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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25448566">collide</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/thespacebetweenstars/pseuds/thespacebetweenstars'>thespacebetweenstars</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast), Welcome to Night Vale</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asexual Relationship, Canon Asexual Character, Character Development, Crossover, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Hopeful Ending, I took a break from my nearly completed novel wip to write this bc I love Night Vale that much, Kissing, M/M, Mild Language, TMA, Typical Night Vale Weirdness, a story about growth and fear and love, but he means well, carlos has adhd, character based shenanigans, jon and cecil could probably learn a lot from eachother. and so they do, jon's a bit of a bastard, mild WTNV spoilers, mild spoilers for WTNV 109, outpouring of love and headcanons with a plot, spoilers for MAG 165 and previous episodes, spoilers for WTNV 100, takes place before WTNV 100</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:41:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>24,912</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25448566</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/thespacebetweenstars/pseuds/thespacebetweenstars</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It is a lovely day in Night Vale, and you are a horrible Archivist.</p><p>aka, Jon questions what's left of his humanity, and is forcefully met with a whole new perspective on the supernatural.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Carlos (Welcome to Night Vale) &amp; Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Carlos/Cecil Palmer, Cecil Palmer &amp; Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood &amp; Carlos (Welcome to Night Vale), Martin Blackwood &amp; Cecil Palmer, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>181</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>364</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. the rift</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The harsh, grating winds of the vast desert scraped against Jon’s hands as he trudged through the sands. Eyes squirmed across the sky, a dizzying mirage of fear and pupils. They were in between domains at the moment, but he could feel another one approaching, that looming sense of dread on his conscience.</p><p>The apocalypse: day thirty-two.</p><p>As they walked, the wind tapered down, no longer throwing fits of sand into their eyes. Jon pulled the cloth down from his face, gasping his first breath of fresh air in an hour. He could hear Martin’s breathing, short and unsteady after doing the same.<br/>“You okay?” Came Martin’s voice.</p><p>Jon sighed. “Yes, fine.” </p><p>“Are you sure?” His voice pitched in concern. “You seem all,” Narrowing his eyes, he scrunched up his nose in mock frustration, a little line forming in between his eyebrows. </p><p>Surely enough, Jon could feel tension mirrored between his own. Rolling his eye, his fingers pushed against his forehead, smoothing it out. “Okay, <em> yes </em>, you’ve got me.”</p><p>They walked in silence for another moment, nothing but the low, shifting wind and the trudging of their feet through the sand.</p><p>“So?” Martin probed, looking faintly concerned. “Do you want to talk about it?”</p><p>Jon bit his lip. “Ah- it’s just-” Communication took work. It wasn’t that he was out of practice, it was just that he never really started. “If we figure this out- reverse the ritual and kill Elias, I-” He paused. “What happens next?”</p><p>A soft laugh escaped Martin. “Well, I was hoping a cat, for starts.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Like, a nice house and a cat?” His eyes drifted momentarily towards the sky before flitting back down again. “No more fear gods and their avatars.”</p><p>“Yeah, but that’s the thing.” Jon’s mouth felt dry, and he didn’t think it was the sand. “I <em> am </em> an avatar. Can I have that quiet life?” Quieting, he admitted, “I don’t even deserve it.”</p><p>“Jon,” Martin sighed. “That’s not true, I- <em> oh </em>.” Martin stopped.</p><p>After taking a step, Jon paused. “Martin?”</p><p>His hand padded Jon’s shoulder. “Look.” </p><p>He turned.</p><p>“That wasn’t there a moment before.”</p><p>“Do you think it’s one of Helen’s?”</p><p>“I-” Jon swallowed. “For some reason, I’m not sure.”</p><p>A door stood on the horizon, submerged in the sand. On the shimmering, dry landscape, it was small, square blip.</p><p>Jon blinked.</p><p>The door was two inches from his nose.</p><p>“Woah-!” They jumped back. Panting, Martin stumbled and fought to stay standing on the uneven ground. “What the hell?”</p><p>Jon’s breath grew quiet. Reaching out to Know the door, See what’s on the other side, came up with nothing but a low hum, a faint musical tone in the far distance.</p><p>“Shouldn’t it be yellow?”</p><p>Martin wasn’t wrong. Helen’s doors were yellow. Dizzying, neon slabs of the most nauseating shade. They stood out in the natural world, like magazine cutouts slapped onto his reality.</p><p>This door was nothing like that.</p><p>It was old, carved from oak, with a large, brass handle.</p><p>“Wood,” Martin breathed.</p><p>“Oak,” Jon corrected. “An old oak door.”</p><p>He could feel Martin’s gaze behind his back. “Jon?” he asked, still breathing a little hard. </p><p>Static buzzed in his ears, low and compelling.</p><p>“<em> Jon? </em> What are you-”</p><p>His fingers gripped the handle. Twisting it, the door conceded with a swing, opening to a stranger desert on the other side.</p><p>Martin’s hand was on his shoulder, concern spiking in his voice, but Jon could only hear the static, and the growing rushing of the wind.<br/>Vertigo swarmed his head as the world tilted around him. He was shoved through the door, Martin a blur beside him, and slammed his face into the hard sand. A plunge underwater, into a world a step to the left. The atoms buzzed with a particular <em> wrongness </em> , frozen and distorted. Time was soup when it should have been a line, and Jon’s brain <em> screamed </em> because <em> what does that MEAN </em>.</p><p>The door slammed shut behind him. Jon’s breath caught in his throat. Trapped. He swung around, briefly noting Martin reeling on the ground beside him. The door was gone. His breaths were coming in a panicked pant now. </p><p>Where he expected the desert they had come from, miles and miles of endless sand, tapering off only into the next dimension of fear, he instead saw a road. Asphalt leading down to the hazy shape of a city in the near distance- distinctly American. No growing buildings of architecture new and old, but instead little buildings sprawled out in a vague shape of community.<br/>In the sky, cast in a violet shade of eternal night, was a moon, surrounded by a sharp oval of lighter sky. If Jon didn’t know better, he’d say it resembled an eye.</p><p>It blinked.</p><p>Jon started with a gasp, scrambling back.</p><p>That was when the sign caught his eye. Large, meant for passing cars hurrying through the night. Upon it, written in dark, esoteric letters, were the words:</p><p>
  <em> Welcome to Night Vale. </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>the story summary is based off the slogan from the Untitled Goose Game, as well as this lovely art I found on tumblr:<br/><a href="https://cityelf.tumblr.com/post/190541297708">link</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. a world a step to the left</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jon hears Night Vale Community Radio for the first time, and it goes about as well as you'd expect.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>2/12/2021 edit: the radio snippets in this chapter are now from my own writings! rather than night vale episodes ^^</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The radio was already droning when they entered the diner.</p><p>The door swung open with a light jingle of a bell. The restaurant was standardly American, which didn’t bring Jon much relief. Glossy, leather cushions lined the booths and stools, emphasized by lines of silver. People turned in their seats, as if sniffing new blood, casting suspicious glares over them.</p><p>Jon could already feel a headache forming at the back of his head.</p><p>“Let’s just sit down, yeah?” Martin offered.</p><p>“Mm,” he hummed noncommittally.</p><p>Sitting at the counter, his feet digging into the silver ring near the base, Jon noticed the radio.</p><p>He noticed the Voice.</p><p>
  <em> “And now listeners, corrections. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> In an earlier broadcast, we reported on birds, as if they were real, sentient beings.</em>
</p><p><em> We apologize for our misstep in judgem </em>..”</p><p>Jon tuned it out. He was never a fan of talk show radio.</p><p>“Excuse me?” Martin was waving over the waitress behind the counter. <em> Better him than me </em>, Jon remarked. Safe to say, Martin was far more approachable than he, with his soft curls and doe-like brown eyes. Jon’s pockmarked scars and eternal dark spots under his eyes were more than enough to arouse suspicion.</p><p>The radio snagged his attention as the waitress perked up and turned toward them.</p><p>
  <em> “Soon all will be lost. Hallowed out, vacant. Your breathing lungs, your buzzing mind, will fall still, silent, and cold. Bacteria will eat away at what is left of your lonesome corpse, leaving behind stark, dirty bones. Eye sockets full of void. Moss will nestle in your temples. Snails will make a home between your ribs. This is life. Beginning again. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> This message has been brought to you by Spirit Halloween.” </em><br/>
<em> 'It never lasts for long'” </em></p><p>“What the fuck?” Jon remarked quietly.</p><p>“Can I get you boys anything?” There was a southern lilt to her voice. </p><p>“Yes,” Martin gave her a sunny smile. “Can you tell us how to leave?”</p><p>She leaned in, hand over her ear. “I’m sorry?”</p><p>“How do we leave Night Vale?”</p><p>The woman snickered. “You’re kiddin’, right?”</p><p>His voice turned apologetic. “No, no, I’m serious, how do we-?”</p><p>Taking a step back, she doubled over in a roar of laughter. “Good one,” she gestured, and turned back to another customer, repeating it under her breath.</p><p>Martin glanced at Jon. “Did I-?”</p><p>Jon shook his head subtly. </p><p>“Hm.” Martin’s brows furrowed in concentration.</p><p>“Excuse me,” An unfamiliar voice broke in.</p><p>Jon turned.</p><p>A man in a lab coat leaned on the counter. “Did I hear you’re new to town?” Jon noted the ashy scuffs along his white sleeves, the touches of premature grey at his temples.</p><p>Martin’s eyes widened. “Uh- yeah.”</p><p>“Hah, that doesn’t happen much.” The man sat on the stool. “Name’s Carlos, by the way.”</p><p>“Can <em> you </em> tell us how to get out of this place?” Jon deadpanned.</p><p>Carlos tilted his head, suppressing a smile. “I can tell you that it’s difficult.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “How much of the town have you seen already?”<br/>
Jon opened his mouth to speak, but instead images flooded his head. Cult-like, hooded figures gathered at a dusty fence. A gaping hole in the parking lot, unfathomable lights in the sky across the street. A house that wasn’t there. Tall creatures of void and sun that hurt his eyes when he looked at them.</p><p>“Not much,” he said, because it felt true. That fact alone filled his stomach with dread.</p><p>“Hm,” Carlos hummed. “Tell you what, I’ll take you to see someone. If anyone knows about a new rift in town, it would be him.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. the entity</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jon encounters something unlike everything he has seen.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>cecil !!!</p><p>also my headcanons are just the way I interpreted the characters. if you see them differently feel free to imagine them so!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Statement of Jonathan Sims, regarding the entity known as Cecil Palmer.” Jon sighed, raking his hand over his face. Voice low and rough, he said, “Jesus Christ, where do I even <em> start </em>.”   </p><p>The station was still broadcasting when they arrived.</p><p>Carlos had led them down the dark hallway, past the door of fogged glass, labeled with the words <em> Station Management </em> in old, serif font, and writhing, eldritch shapes of tentacles and claws cast in silhouettes on the door. They entered a small studio, a wall of glass over the control panel, composed of analog switches and dials. A ruddy faced, small ginger intern in a purple shirt gave Carlos a short smile before returning to pressing a pair of headphones to her ear, poised to react. To <em> what </em> , Jon wasn’t sure. <em> Technical difficulties? </em></p><p>His eyes drifted over the panel, over the dark cabinets, over the violet ON AIR light, until his gaze landed on the announcer himself.</p><p>It was the tattoos that caught his eye.</p><p>Dark shapes, reminiscent of the creature behind Station Management’s door, reached up his arms, disappearing behind his rolled-up sleeves. A tip of a tentacle just barely wrapped his neck, poking out of his shirt collar, implying the design was continuous. His skin was tanned, vaguely reminiscent of Southeast Asia in shade and structure, except that’s where the <em> human </em> features stopped. His hair started out in dark roots, but a shock of white creeped in from the tips. His eyes <em> glowed </em> in the darkened studio, a neon violent against the shadows. An apparition floated, affixed to his forehead, a symbol of an eye- all glowing white lines and a thin pupil down the middle. While the announcer was looking at a paper in his hand as he talked, the third eye snapped to him, fixing him in place.</p><p>Without a second thought, Jon turned and left the room.</p><p> </p><p>He walked straight into the Employee’s Lounge and refused to leave until the broadcast was over. </p><p>In an attempt to record a statement, vent out his building stress, he turned on a tape recorder. It began whirring, but Jon could only get a few words out before he fell into exasperated silence. The whirring stopped as he clicked it off. For another time, perhaps. He crossed the room to sit down.</p><p>Elbows pressed into his knees, Jon’s mind filled with static. The Beholding yearned for understanding within him. But, as he reached out, he failed to find purchase. Every bit of information in this godforsaken place wiggled out of his grip like a slippery fish, mocking him for the mere attempt. A growl warmed at the back of his throat, head filling with frustration, until he felt the other cushion on the couch dip beside him. He glanced over at Martin, and his anger dissolved.</p><p>“Hey,” Jon offered softly.</p><p>Martin looked toward him with a soft <em> nn? </em> Until Jon slid the round glasses off of his face.</p><p>Bringing them into his lap, he wiped the remains of sand from the rim with his thumb.</p><p>“Jon, I can’t see.”</p><p>“One <em> second </em>,” Jon chided. He brought them up to slip back over his face. “You had some sand left,” and with his words, he admired quietly at his face, at the complimentary combination of the thin, golden frames against his dark complexion.</p><p>“Ah,” Martin admitted, noticing the difference. He leaned against him, gently bumping Jon’s shoulder with his own. “‘S a weird place, innit?”</p><p>“You have no idea.” Despite his lack of purchase, Jon could tell one thing: something was very wrong with this town, down to the fabric of reality itself.</p><p>“Except I can’t really pin it down to any <em> entities </em> , y’know? I mean it’s not exactly as clear as the <em> Lonely </em>.”</p><p>“Oh, no." With a humored breath, Jon said, "I think it’s worse.”</p><p>The announcer’s Voice drifted through the halls of the radio station. Now that he had relaxed and wasn’t convinced that the unfamiliar, handsome man was drawing them to their uncertain deaths, Jon could pin the voice back to the one in the diner. Jon’s arm slipped around Martin’s, holding the soft fabric of his sweater tight.</p><p>“.. Could be the Beholding, with that third eye of his.”</p><p>“Mm.” Jon doubted it.</p><p>“Think it’s connected to that thing in the sky- oh, Jon?” Martin’s voice went soft. </p><p>He had pressed his face into the top of Martin’s shoulder, uncaring about how his shirt collar poked his cheek. “<em> Just a second </em>,” Jon mumbled. His heartbeat, which had been racing like the panicked wing of a trapped butterfly these past couple weeks, began to calm as he felt Martin’s hand on his temple, brushing away a few remnants of sand. For a moment, he just allowed himself to still, breathing in his familiar scent, clinging onto the warmth seeping through the woven threads of his sweater. He stayed there until the Voice faded into the night, signalling the end of the broadcast. With a sigh, Jon straightened, preparing himself for facing whatever came next.</p><p>Footsteps tapped down the hall, walking towards them.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. clash</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Eye hungers, and Jon is not immune to its effects.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The moment his eyes landed on Cecil, the Watcher barraged him with knowledge.</p><p>Jon stood from the couch as the footsteps neared, tensing with each <em> tap </em> against the linoleum floor. His arms crossed over his chest. Taking note of the small lounge, he noticed the counters along the wall, the coffee cups left out to dry. A poster, charred at the edges, was hanging over the stove, printed with the word BEWARE and a smiley face. To the left of it was a small mallet, a coffee-toned dust tinting the wooden end. Full of questions, Jon pursed his lips.</p><p>The announcer rounded the corner, and Jon was hit with every bit of information the Beholding could draw out:</p><p>Entity: Cecil Gershwin Palmer. Male. Age: N/A. Genetic structure: 39% Filipino, 20% Indigenous, 41% Israeli. Blood composition: 82% O Negative, 18% Unknown. Marks embedded in the skin: foreign material.</p><p>Jon backtracked. <em> Wait, his tattoos? </em> The Beholding provided nothing. <em> They’re made of ink, right? </em> </p><p>Composition of ink: petroleum distillate solvent, linseed oil, pigments, soybean oil.</p><p>Jon pressed a finger to his temple, frustration building into a mild headache there. <em> No, </em> his <em> tattoos. </em></p><p>Composition Unknown.<br/>
The announcer- <em> Cecil </em> , Jon remembered, was greeting Martin with a smile and a handshake. Jon searched for the shape of fangs in his pearly teeth.<br/>
All at once, the Beholding gave into his yearning for knowledge and provided more, useless facts:</p><p>Lived with his mother until age 15, with his sister from age 15 to age 18. Raised Jewish, although not practicing. Affinity for cats and the like. Marked by <b>[REDACTED]</b>. Fear of mirrors, -</p><p>Jon blinked. <em> What was that? </em></p><p>“Hey!” The entity was talking to <em> him </em> now. “You’re the outsiders, right?” As if his vocal cords were coated in velvet, his voice had a deliberate, rich quality to it.</p><p>Jon gave a glance to his outstretched palm. He nodded stiffly.</p><p>“Ah-” Cecil removed the offer of a handshake, brushing it off as he smoothed back his unruly curls. “Right. You were part of the broadcast today.”</p><p>Without his permission, the sound waves ran through his mind. <em> Here’s some news, listeners! Another door appeared on the outskirts of town today. Hah, [strained] sure was hoping were we done with </em> those <em> by now- Oh! </em> An image of the studio flashed through his head, the subtle light of the third eye increasing in intensity. <em> Two visitors have stepped through! This- </em></p><p>Jon cast the knowledge from his head. He didn’t <em> need </em> that. </p><p>“Carlos said you needed help leaving?” Cecil tried.</p><p>Now that the entity was before him, Jon noted that his eyes were far less intense than before, now a subtle purple glow behind his pupils, almost imperceptible over his dark irises.</p><p>Martin stepped beside him. “Yeah!” He offered brightly, giving Jon a hard look that said <em> Don’t be rude </em>.</p><p>Jon barely registered it. “Well?” He asked.</p><p>“There- the door you came through?” Cecil offered.</p><p>“That’s gone.”</p><p>Raising his shoulders in a brief shrug, Cecil glanced toward Carlos.</p><p>“He said <em> you </em> would know how to leave,” Jon insisted.</p><p>“I mean, ah- Yes.. If there was something, it would probably be on the news.”</p><p>“And what about now?”</p><p>Cecil laughed nervously. “What?”</p><p>“Are there any doors now?”</p><p>“I don’t-uh, how would I know?”</p><p>Jon stared at him. His gaze flicked up to the third eye on his forehead, then back down to his face. “Are you <em> serious </em>?”</p><p>“<em> Jon </em>,” Martin warned.</p><p>Cecil put his hands in the pockets of his slacks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about-”</p><p>“<em>What are you</em>?” Compulsion dripped off his tongue like thick honey. Without taking so much as a glance in his reflection, he could tell his eyes were glowing, a sharp green luminescence behind his pupils. With a start, he Knew it mirrored the effect in Cecil’s. He could see a light flicker behind Carlos’ eyes as he realized the connection.</p><p>Cecil blinked, narrowing his eyes as if confused. “I don’t-”</p><p>Jon pushed harder, reaching out toward the entity’s will. Lines creased in his skin and opened to reveal eyes, staring into his soul. They dotted Jon's neck, the soft spot under his jaw, the angle of his wrist, all bright green irises and hungry pupils. “<b> <em>What are you</em> </b> <em> ? </em>” </p><p>Stuttering, Cecil shook his head. “I’m- h- <em> what </em>.” His finger pressed against his temple, eyebrows contorting as if fighting a headache.</p><p>“<em> Jon! </em>” Martin was catching on.</p><p><em> That shouldn’t be possible </em> , Jon remarked. <em> Any </em> human <em> would have responded by now </em> . His resolve hardened. “ <em> What </em> <b> <em>are-</em> </b>”</p><p>“A radio host!” Cecil blurted. </p><p><em> Damn </em>. That wasn’t untrue, but it wasn’t what he was looking for. Jon opened his mouth to try again, but Martin was pushing him back.</p><p>“What the hell, Jon?” He whispered. Martin’s face was close to his now, his palm on his chest, holding him back. </p><p>“Did you see that?” The whisper felt sharp on his tongue, tinged with paranoia. The extraneous eyes slid shut and disappeared. “The only <em> things </em> that can resist are avatars and-”</p><p>“<em> That doesn’t excuse it! </em>”</p><p>Carlos coughed. “Hey,” he said.</p><p>Jon peered past Martin’s shoulder. The scientist was standing beside the entity now, hand on his shoulder. Cecil was blinking rapidly, brows furrowed, his eyes a little dazed. “What was that?” Carlos asked, bordering on confrontational.</p><p>“Ah-” Seeing him now, confused and oddly human, Jon was beginning to see where he had gone too far. Guilt crept up on him, revolted at how he’s just the Archivist and he’ll never do anything more than search and destroy and feed like a <em> parasite- </em></p><p>“It’s a long story,” Martin’s voice broke through his thoughts.</p><p>“I have time,” Carlos replied. His hand still rested on Cecil's shoulder protectively.</p><p>In a jerking motion, the station floor lurched and rumbled beneath them. Knocked off his feet, Jon stumbled back. His hand hit the table in a desperate attempt to grab it. Just before he fell, Martin’s hand found his arm, pulling him into stability.</p><p>“What’s <em>happening</em>?" Jon shouted.</p><p>Braced against the wall, Cecil had gone very pale. “Station Management.” His voice was a mere whisper, barely audible over the growling down the hall. A loud <em> SLAM </em> reverberated through the walls. “They’re angry.”</p><p>“C’mon,” Carlos said, moving towards the door as the shakes continued.</p><p>That was more than enough for Jon. He nodded and moved to follow him, but Martin hand caught his shoulder.</p><p>“This conversation isn’t over yet.” He looked at him, then stumbled as the floor took a sudden jerk.<br/>
Jon caught <em> him </em> this time, arm slipping around his waist. Meeting his eyes, steady and trusting, he whispered “I know.” as a promise, his voice full of warmth, tinged with an apologetic air.<br/>
The entity and the scientist had already slipped out the door, with Jon and Martin not far behind.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>the poster at the beginning: beware!! c:<br/>Jon: (ㆀ˘･з･˘)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. inconsistencies</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"[And what are we, Night Vale,] without darkness? Without shadows? And without secrets?" - Cecil Palmer, Old Oak Doors Part B.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Crossing the threshold of the radio station, Jon plunged into a world cast in dark violet shades. Something occurred to him, a twinge of unease in the back of his head, and he turned back toward the station.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hand in his, Martin skidded to a stop. “Jon?” He asked, and gently tugged him forward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Energy fizzled in the air around them, clustered in intensity around the radio station. It wasn’t until he left that he noticed the sudden lack of it. “We should be dead,” he realized.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin looked back at him. He blinked once. “.. Is this more ominous-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” Taking a step forward, Jon peering into the building, searching for what he was failing to See. Radiation. That was it, the inexplicable waves of gamma radiation, radiating from the station walls. It buzzed through the town, but swirling around the radio tower as if it was an epicenter. Jon took in a breath, steadying himself, and allowed the Ceaseless Watcher to show him the Truth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A crater, where the town should be. Ashy, grey, broken walls cast in haphazard rubble. The dreadful aftermath of a nuclear blast. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Jon stumbled back with a gasp. The vision was gone. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jon thought as his breath came shakily. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Not a vision</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It felt more like peering into another possibility, lying adjacent to this one. Jon was filled to the brim with the sudden notion that he was standing on fragile glass, struck by a clumsy hand. Spiderwebs cracks ran through it, taut and brittle- but still, somehow, standing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hand grabbed his wrist. “Stop!” The Voice said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon looked to see that Martin had stepped back, a haunted look behind his glasses. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Had he seen it too?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The entity- </span>
  <em>
    <span>Cecil</span>
  </em>
  <span>- was letting go of him, now that he had his attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wasn’t-” Jon began to defend.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just stop probing it-” The violet glow behind his pupils flared, bright in the subtle night- </span>
  <em>
    <span>night?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Cecil glanced toward the station, over Jon’s shoulder, then back at him. “You’ll break something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon blinked. At the implication, nausea swam up his throat. He nodded shakily. Guilt had dug its claws into him, dizzy at the thought of that happening </span>
  <em>
    <span>again</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “-Sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cecil nodded, stepping back. The luminescence in his eyes died down, making him look a little more human. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not far behind him, Jon could see confusion mapped onto Carlos’ face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry?” Martin spoke, a little incredulous, as a way to get their attention. “But wasn’t it </span>
  <em>
    <span>the middle of the day</span>
  </em>
  <span> when we stepped inside?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cecil glanced at him. “Yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon looked at the sky as he realized this, too. Less than an hour ago, there was a blazing desert sun, glaring straight down at them in the summer heat. Now, it was night. The leftover sunbeam warmth still hung in the air, although it was fading fast, dissolving into the cool of dusk. “That doesn’t make any sense-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve got bigger problems,” Carlos interjected.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reflexively, Jon moved closed to Martin, subconsciously seeking out his hand as the inconsistencies and odd facts piled on him. It was beginning to dawn on him </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span> he had been on edge every moment he breathed in Night Vale.  The apocalypse, although terrifying, was consistent. It was Known. A constant barrage of tragedy after fear, but it </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> constant. Jon found a grim comfort in its predictability, knowing he had a purpose. A responsibility to fix what he had broken.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Night Vale was New. Brimming with the unexplainable and esoteric, Jon was on unstable ground. He held onto Martin a little tighter, his fingers interlacing with his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It came to his attention what Carlos was talking about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just on the horizon were shimmering, shadowy shapes, vague and incomprehensible to the human eye. Jon decided not to look any closer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Carlos’ mouth set into a grim line. “I don’t think </span>
  <em>
    <span>we</span>
  </em>
  <span> were what made Station Management upset.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>edit: the italicized words didn't make it through the first time</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. the thread that ties us</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"If you see something crawling across your floor in the dark, don’t worry.<br/>It’s probably just a tarantula.<br/>Welcome to Night Vale."<br/>-Cecil Palmer, Citizen Spotlight</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Carlos didn’t waste any time. “They’re approaching fast-” he realized, then turned, his lab coat catching on air. “We need to buy time- head towards the center of the city.”</p><p>Jon peered towards the mass. The sight seared his eyes. He looked away in an instant, squinting. Dark spots danced in his vision as if he’d looked into a very bright light. “What <em> are </em> they?”</p><p>With a glance, Carlos replied, “Best not to ask.” His hand slipped into his coat pocket and brought out a notepad as he began briskly towards a silver car, parked just outside the station. </p><p>Jon looked at Cecil for a different answer, but all he did was nod in agreement. Then, his face fell. “Wait-” Cecil whirled back towards the tower. “I need to be in there.”</p><p>Martin glanced nervously towards the horizon. “Didn’t you already <em> do </em> a broadcast today?”</p><p>Opening his mouth, then closing it, conflict reflected across his face. “I- Well, yes, but-” In a sudden rush, Jon could sympathize. That tugging at the chest, that nagging sense of obligation. Like when he went too long without taking statements- it was more than just hunger, it was a pull towards his Purpose. “It’s an emergency,” Cecil rationalized. Like he didn’t know what he would be without it. <em> If </em>he would be, at all.</p><p>Carlos jogged back toward them. “What are you waiting for? We should-” He spotted Cecil’s face, and it dawned on him. “Oh, honey, <em> no </em>.”</p><p>Insistent, Cecil began to speak, “I <em> need </em> to-”</p><p>“Those creatures will be on the station any second.” Carlos neared him. “You can’t stay.”</p><p>“But-” he pressed his mouth tight, a frustrated look flashing over his expression, before his voice lowered, contorted into a calming, persuasive intonation. “The town needs to know.”</p><p>Martin took on a falsely bright tone. “They’ll know when they see them!”</p><p>Malicious intentions rolled off the shapes in waves. Images of sharp teeth and dissolving atoms flashed on the edges of his consciousness. Jon was eager to leave. He opened his mouth to say just that before Carlos spoke.</p><p>“<em> Please </em>,” his hand rested on Cecil’s arm. The entity only gave a reluctant whine in return. “If we find a microphone in town, you can broadcast from there.”</p><p>“I can’t think of anyone with a licensed microphone in <em> town- </em>”</p><p>Despite his sympathy, Jon was growing impatient. “And what about <em> unlicensed </em> microphones?” he huffed.</p><p>Cecil looked at him as if he had suggested committing arson. Intrigued but too fearful to act.“That’s <em> illegal </em>,” he gasped.</p><p>“Hey,” Carlos leaned forward until he had Cecil’s attention again. “I’m not leaving here without you.”</p><p>With a sigh, he conceded. “Fine.”</p><p>“Great!” Martin said brightly. “Can we leave now? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure those things are closer than before.”</p><p>Jon decided to trust him. A sense in his bones intensely advised against looking anywhere near the horizon. </p><p>Carlos nodded, and ran towards the car. Hopping in, he stuck the key in its slot without hesitation. The engine rumbled to life. Approaching the car, Jon’s hand landed on the roof, feeling the leftover warmth from the desert sun. The hazy reflection of the moon, with its subtly violet, eye-shaped halo, in the silver casing peered up at him. Jon thought back to the broadcast’s closing words.</p><p>
  <em> Goodnight Night Vale. Goodnight. </em>
</p><p>Jon swallowed, and found his mouth dry of saliva.</p><p>With a glance towards the entity, he caught him on the other side of the car, hovering outside the passenger door, gazing back longingly towards the station. His eyes glowed a little brighter, a flare of urgency through his luminescence. Sharp shadows flickered around his forearms, hovering just above his tattoos, like hands twitching to reach out, but just holding back. </p><p>For some reason, against all his better judgement, Jon got the sense that it was only that radio station that was nagging at him, not the shapes on the horizon, flashing like the sun off the ocean’s surface. He wasn’t sure what to make of that, a total disregard for the apparent danger on their tails.</p><p>Jon slipped into the car after Martin. On the carpeted floor, a device covered with knobs and a box of scientific glassware took up the space. Jon moved his shoes to rest on the seat, and caught sight of something dark and many-legged scurrying across where his feet had lay moments before. Jon scooched a little closer to Martin. </p><p>The passenger door slammed shut. Cecil leaned back against his seat. His hand, resting on his thigh, clenched into a fist.</p><p>As he shifted the car into drive, Carlos gently touched Cecil’s knee, an unconscious gesture of comfort, before his hand returned to the wheel.</p><p>Despite everything in his screaming to stay still, Jon glanced back. Through the car window, the creatures squirmed and radiated, moments from the glass. Eyes widened, Jon bit back a scream.</p><p>The engine purred to life. It jerked, sped forward with increasing velocity.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. connection</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Carlos' scientific curiosity gets the best of him.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The moment they slammed the doors of the science lab behind them, Jon felt the urge to record a statement. It seemed like the logical conclusion, but he just- didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>see</span>
  </em>
  <span> the things, much less describe them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Darkness swarmed the lab. The reflective tiles reflected the low, violet light seeping in from the sky outside. Carlos flipped a switch on the wall, and light flooded the room. Jon flinched, squinting against the sudden brightness. His back hit a counter. Glancing over his arm, a few concerning objects cluttered the surface. His elbow hit a small bat’s skull as he turned. A few slick black candles flickered shakily, surrounding a dusty, dark pyramid with a circled star curved into its surface. Jon glanced up to see a bubbling liquid, crimson gleaming sickly under the fluorescent lights. He blinked. There was no fire underneath the glass.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A hand touched his arm. “Hey-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon jumped back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Carlos moved back a half inch. “Uh- I wouldn’t touch any of that.” He flashed a charming smile. “Don’t want to disturb the experiments.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon found all he could do was nod slowly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Carlos moved to grab something off of the adjacent counter, Jon forced himself to inhale, deliberate and slow. Clenching his hand into a fist, he extended it, stretching his fingers to rid himself of the building stress. He met Martin’s eyes from across the room where Cecil was talking his ear off. Martin flashed a small smile, and Jon felt his heart warm. After so many days trudging through the apocalypse, with fear staining the ground, threatening to seep in through his skin, holding onto his hand was the only comfort left. A warm grasp despite the world. Jon wished he was by his side now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A device stuck in his face, centimeters from his nose.. Carlos appeared behind it. “Can you do the thing again?” he asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh- what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The glowy thing.” Curiosity gleamed in his brown eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pressing a finger to the stop of the device, Jon pushed it down slowly, ignoring the low, staticky buzz whining from its speakers. “You should be focused on saving the town.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It can wait.” The device neared his face. “Ask a question?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon looked up, painfully restraining himself from rolling his eyes. He glanced toward Martin once more, before looking at Carlos. “Uh- </span>
  <em>
    <span>opinion on spiders?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Compulsion rose in his throat and spilled out, slick like oil. Green creeped in the edges of his vision, and he knew with a leaden certainty that his eyes were subtly glowing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Absolutely adorable-” The words spilled out of Carlos’ mouth, and his free hand flew to cover it. “Oh!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon’s made a face, his nose scrunching into a look of disgust. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Carlos’ eyes were already on the device, before he turned and rushed back towards the opposite counter. He grabbed a cord from the desk, plugging one end into the device, and the other into a computer port. Straightening up to look at the screen, he watched the data that sprawled across the display. As the structure of the curves and points settled, it began to suspiciously resemble audio waves. Carlos let out a </span>
  <em>
    <span>huh</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Fingers trailing down to the mouse, he pulled up a second file, displaying them side by side. He mumbled something under his breath, inaudible until Jon got closer. “-these readings are the exact inverse of the ones from Cecil’s broadcast. I just- I don’t understand </span>
  <em>
    <span>why </span>
  </em>
  <span>there’s a </span>
  <em>
    <span>connection</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Leaning against the counter, Jon looked from the screen to Carlos. “Is he not an avatar?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Carlos blinked. His brown eyes flicked to Jon. “A what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His jaw tightened. With a heavy certainty, Jon knew he had some explaining to do.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>this chapter is pretty short, but the next one is much, much longer, from Carlos' POV :&gt;<br/>look forward to that tomorrow morning</p>
<p>Also to everyone who's left a comment, thank you so much! I love reading what you have to say.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. love, despite the odds</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A brief reflection on the entity known as Cecil Palmer.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ever since he had laid eyes on him, Carlos knew Cecil had a loose relationship with humanity, the way the town had a loose relationship with time.</p><p>It wasn’t rational, at first. The radio announcer of this small, strange town was certainly human <em> shaped </em> . Two arms, two legs, the testosterone that formed the edge of his jaw, the chords that made up that sonorous voice. He was made of cells, with lungs that inhaled oxygen and exhaled carbon dioxide. But Carlos’ couldn’t stop himself from looking for more. His mind was a logical one- he seeked out patterns, fit them together to form theories. And every time they crossed paths, his brain wouldn’t stop screaming that somehow, <em> something </em>was off.</p><p>It started in the studio, that first meeting, when Carlos had told Cecil that the station was drenched in fatal amounts of radioactivity, that they needed to evacuate if they wanted to live. Cecil just looked at him, hands clasped amiably over his lap, and <em> smiled </em>.</p><p>Carlos left soon after that.</p><p>Or how sometimes, when Carlos visited for <em> professional reasons </em> and caught Cecil mid broadcast, he could see him briefly through the window in the station door. His rich voice cooing through the radio on his desk. When Cecil turned, his mouth wasn’t moving at all.</p><p>Or how the tendrils reaching up his arms seemed to shift, briefly taking on a three-dimensional shape, how he could <em> see </em> events that were taking place miles away from him without any effort at all, how his paper cuts would heal mere seconds after the slice, how, when it was dark enough, his veins glowed, subtly violet in the night.</p><p>And that doesn’t even <em> touch </em> the sigil-like third eye.</p><p>Despite his growing curiosity, Carlos was shy. He wasn’t sure how to approach Cecil, outside of <em> purely scientific inquiries </em>, and he didn’t want to mess any prospects up by poking where he shouldn’t.</p><p>So Carlos left his yearning questions unanswered.</p><p>That was, until they started dating.</p><p> </p><p>Once, when curled on his bed, Cecil reading a book in his hand while Carlos rested on his chest, he peered up at his eyes. As they scanned the page, calm and lidded, they glowed sharply in the low light. Two circles of neon violet around his pupils. He flipped a page. The book’s title was crossed out, covered by the large words <em> CITIZEN APPROVED </em>. Carlos’ hand slipped over Cecil’s arm, tracing the curve of the tattoo there. Cecil smiled despite himself. A spark of confidence flickered in Carlos’ chest. He inhaled, and said, “Can I ask you something?”</p><p>Cecil looked down at him, an eyebrow raised. He pushed his reading glasses to the top of his head. “Ah-” he had a strangely giddy smile. “Sure,” he replied, a small hitch in his tone.</p><p>Carlos gazed at him affectionately. “Why do your eyes glow?”</p><p>The book closed. Cecil tensed, shifting back.</p><p>Carlos half raised himself on his forearms, no longer leaning on him. “Cecil-?”</p><p>“Another time, okay?” The glow increased to a sharp, intense shade, nearing white in its brightness.  He looked away, gaze fixed on the far corner of the room. “It’s late.”</p><p>“Yeah, uh- of course.” Carlos nodded as Cecil slipped out from under the covers. The bed felt colder without him.</p><p> </p><p>They were in the lab the next time. </p><p>“Ugh-” Cecil groaned, hopping up to sit on the counter. “I mean, I <em> know </em> it’s my civic duty-”</p><p>“Gotta feed those old gods,” Carlos chimed, mimicking his boyfriend’s broadcast from the previous night.</p><p>“But blood drives suck!” His hands flew up in exasperation. Fear flashed briefly over his face, eyes going wide. He froze, arm stuck by his side. “Just curious- where are the bugs in here?”</p><p>Gesturing toward the plant on the windowsill, Carlos said, “Far enough.”</p><p>In an exhale, the tension drained from Cecil’s shoulders. </p><p>Carlos crossed the room. “What’s your problem with blood drives, anyway?” He teased with a smile as he leaned past him to grab a flask.</p><p>A subtle purple flush warmed the tips of his ears. His hair was lighter, then, the white tips reaching nearly to cover the dark roots themselves. Cecil mumbled something.</p><p>Carlos placed the flask on the opposite counter and turned back. “What was that?”</p><p>“I’m afraid of needles!” he admitted, his luxurious voice pitching.</p><p>A laugh escaped Carlos. “How’d you get <em> those </em> then?” he gestured towards his arms.</p><p>Cecil’s brows contorted in confusion. “Get what?”</p><p>Carlos smiled, perplexed with a tilt of the head. “Your tattoos?” Grabbing a sample, he began to fill the glass. A friend of his had gotten a design of the night sky before, embedded into his skin. He knew the painful hours that went into getting that slick shade of black, dark as tar. The needle running over the same spot over, and over, and over.</p><p>The light drained from Cecil’s face. “They’re not- ah.” His eyes drifted elsewhere, a low haunting behind his expression. He pushed himself off of the counter. “I should probably set up the radio station.”</p><p>Carlos blinked, words caught in his throat. “It-” He placed the flask, with its swishing liquid, on the counter, and neared him. “It’s barely two,” he tried to say, but Cecil didn’t seem to hear.</p><p>“Sorry,” he pecked a kiss to Carlos’ cheek. The brief touch warmed his skin, but did little to dissolve his confusion. “See you later.”</p><p> </p><p>Even in the midst of all the idiosyncrasies, Carlos was content. He had been rejected by nearly every person he had known over his life. Parents disowned him after they discovered he was gay. He rejected their name, but it still stung. Friends made no effort to understand his love for science, his work, so they subtly distanced themselves, hangout after hangout, conveniently forgetting to ask Carlos if he was free, until he was virtually alone. Colleagues ostracized him. Ridiculing him for his interest in outlandish theories, calling him a <em> conspiracy theorist with a degree </em> even on the best of days.<br/>
To everyone else, he was either too much or not enough. Too invested or too distracted. Overexcited or far too distant. Jumping between two extremes, without room in the middle for chill. Everyone saw this, and everyone had veered away.</p><p>But not Cecil.</p><p>Ever since he has stepped foot in Night Vale, Cecil had accepted him. Every flaw and quirk, the entirety of him. Without question. It was the least Carlos could do, to give him the same respect.</p><p> </p><p>Cecil had broken down two months after their first date.</p><p>Or, relatively so. Time didn’t work as it should, curving in slopes and sloshing like liquid instead of behaving linearly. Carlos was still trying to wrap his mind around it. What he <em> did </em> know, was they were in Carlos’ apartment at the time.</p><p>“Hey, hey,” he had said, a calming breath on his tone as his hand rested on Cecil’s shoulder.</p><p>Tears were welling in his beautiful eyes. He struggled to speak, blinking furiously. “I’m sorry-” the shape of his words broke, dissolved into quiet sobs.</p><p>Carlos pulled him onto the couch. He held Cecil close as his shoulders convulsed. Pressing his mouth to Cecil’s temple, he waited as the unsteady flow of tears stained his lab coat, mumbling soft words of reassurance like <em> you’re gonna be okay </em> , and, <em> I’m here </em>.</p><p>It was a few minutes before Cecil could compose himself. He leaned back, legs crossed on the seat of the couch. To Carlos’ curiosity, it was a subtle <em> purple </em> that lined his eyes, not red. The glow behind his pupils glowed an intense, bright violet. It shined a little in the low light. Carlos took in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly, deliberately exaggerating his breaths until Cecil subciously copied him, slowing his panicked sobs until he was calm enough to speak. </p><p>The first words out of his mouth were “-you deserve better.”</p><p>“Nope.” Carlos held up a finger. “Don’t say that.”</p><p>Cecil’s face scrunched up, looking as if he were about to cry again. He swallowed the swelling of emotion and glanced to the side. Slowly, he searched for the words. “Carlos, I-.. I don’t think I’m..”</p><p>Carlos nodded. “You can say it,” he encouraged. At this point, his scientific curiosity was a forgotten concept of the distant past. The only thing that mattered now was Cecil- and helping him feel <em> safe </em>.</p><p>“human,” Cecil finished.</p><p>Carlos blinked. His mouth opened, then closed. “You’re-”</p><p>“Not entirely, I think.” His mouth pressed into a thin line.</p><p>In the dark of Carlos’ apartment, Cecil explained what he could remember. “Night Vale is-” Cecil shivered a little. “Fragile. The radio ties it together, I think. Having a direction. A will to guide them.” He sniffed. “I think that’s why Station Management needs me.”</p><p>Carlos only nodded, as it slowly dawned on him the expanse of the mystery unfurling before him. He knew Night Vale wasn’t as grounded in reality as most other places- he had theorized it had to do with dimensional time-space dissonance- but to think that it could unravel just as easily..</p><p>“But sometimes-” Cecil bit his lip, looking down at his hands. As Carlos’ thumb traced comfortingly over his shoulder, he seemed to find the words again. “I’m not sure where the radio waves start and I begin.”</p><p>Carlos thought back to that day in the studio. Cecil’s voice carrying through the signals of the speakers without passing by his vocal chords first.</p><p>Choked up, Carlos tried to ask- “Could you-” and fell back on what he knew best. “-clarify?”</p><p>A little laugh escaped Cecil. He glanced at him, eyes full of warmth, before the uncertain thoughts swallowed him up again. “I used to be. Normal. As anyone can be. Like, veins full of human blood and skin unmarked by old gods.” He curled up a little closer to Carlos’ chest. “Since-” he made a choked sound. Abandoning that train, he said, ‘I’ve changed. Faded. A little more distant. And I don’t know-”</p><p>Carlos leaned his head forward to meet Cecil’s eyes.</p><p>An inhale, unsteady and slow. “Before you showed up, I was kinda lonely. My sister on I were on testy terms, you <em> know </em> how much I detest Steve-”</p><p>Carlos failed to contain a snicker.</p><p>“I was- distanced. Focused on my job.” He rubbed a hand over his eyes. “It got worse. So-” The subtle light in his eyes brightened the air around him. “Sometimes.. when I’m not paying attention, I can feel myself get out of focus. Like I’m not really there, just a couple of radio waves in the studio air.”</p><p>“Oh, <em> Cecil </em>.”</p><p>“And I can’t look in mirrors, y’know? It fucking <em> terrifies </em> me, so-” Cecil swallowed dryly. “I can’t even prove that I exist.”</p><p>Carlos was silent for a moment, turning Cecil’s words over in his head. “Hey,” he said, leaning back.</p><p>Shifting back, Cecil turned to look up at him as Carlos held his hands.</p><p>Sliding his fingers under his palms, he said, “You can see these, right?” The intricate shape of his hands were a marvel. A pianist’s hands, with long, deliberate fingers. Good to hold and be held.</p><p>Smiling uncertainly, Cecil shrugged. “Yeah? But- I don’t know, it could just be an illusion.” He sniffed. “I could just be a pair of floating hands.</p><p>Carlos bit back a laugh, tongue between his teeth. “Okay, well, speaking <em> scientifically </em>, things that exist have senses, right?”</p><p>Cecil nodded slowly, eyes wide as he listened.</p><p>“You can smell, taste,”</p><p>“Hypothetically.”</p><p>“-<em> touch </em>.”</p><p>Cecil stilled, pupils dilated.</p><p>Squeezing his hands, Carlos said, “You can feel this, right? The way your cells signal pressure? That proves you’re here.” When Cecil nodded unsteadily, Carlos continued, determined to convince him. One hand drifted to press against his chest. “<em> And </em> this,” The other slid under his jaw, fingers resting against his cheek. “And this.” There was very little air between them now, just the warmth of their shared breath.</p><p>“.. And?” Cecil asked.</p><p>Carlos leaned forward. Heart fluttering in his chest, he curled against Cecil’s form, melting into his touch as Cecil leaned into the kiss, a hand sliding to hook Carlos’ neck in the turn of his arm. Moving forward, they shifted until Carlos was practically on top of Cecil, his free arm framing his face. Carlos leaned back, a swift inhale as he took in Cecil’s gleaming eyes, the twist of his smile. </p><p>With a surge of affection in his chest, Carlos moved in to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw.</p><p>A small laugh escaped Cecil, rumbling deep in his throat. His hand found the side of Carlos’ head as he leaned back to hover over him.</p><p>“So, y’know, considering <em> science </em> and all,”</p><p>Cecil laughed again, harder this time, bubbling up and fizzling out as he tried to speak. “Oh, with all the overwhelming evidence?” His thumb stroked the curls by Carlos’ temple.</p><p>He nodded. “-I think I can say my hypothesis was correct.” Carlos sighed, wondering how he had ever gotten this lucky. “You definitely exist.” </p><p>Smiling up at him, hair slightly messy against the dark couch, Cecil twisted his mouth. “Okayy,” he admitted. “I guess I believe you.” His chest was warm against Carlos’. Playfully scrunching his nose a little, he said, “I might need more evidence, though.”</p><p>A snicker escaped Carlos. “Of course you do,” He collapsed against Cecil, curling up on his chest. His hand settled on his shoulder, still marveling at the entity within his grasp. “For the record,” Carlos murmured into the fabric of his shirt. “I’m very glad you do exist.”</p><p>Cecil leaned his head on the top of Carlos’. “You too,” he whispered.</p><p>Leaning up, Carlos pressed a kiss to the point where a dark tendril wrapped up through his shirt, touching his neck. </p><p>The next morning, as he sipped his coffee, leaning against the kitchen counter, Carlos noted that the light in Cecil’s eyes was a little dimmer. The rich, dark pools of his irises, a little clearer. Over the next few months, the shock of white in his hair would retreat as well, allowing the black roots to creep up. Carlos found comfort in these little facts, the clues shining through that Cecil was feeling a little more human, each day they spent together.</p><p> </p><p>When he got back from the desert otherworld, it was worse.</p><p>Swept up in the inherent mysticism of a whole new world, bristling with spacial dissonance and brand new scientific mysteries, Carlos had almost forgotten. Cecil, poor, silly, beautiful Cecil, with the awful tendency to isolate himself, throwing himself into his work when he was upset, was alone, again.</p><p>He doesn’t think he’ll ever really forgive himself for that.</p><p>It wasn’t until he spotted Cecil, after a year apart, that it hit him all over again. The realization stabbed him, hard, in the chest, when he spotted the bright, terrified glow of Cecil’s eyes. His dark roots were barely visible, just a few wisps of tar black in a mess of white curls. He had held him tight in that car, hand clenching over his shoulder as his chest rose and fell against his, and promised himself that he would never be so careless again.</p><p>As they returned to their shared apartment, Cecil chatted the whole way. Catching him up on what he missed, what had changed. His sonorous voice bubbled brightly, weaving shapes, curving into stories of the time he had missed. Something twinged in Carlos’ chest as he unlocked the door. It wasn’t until he crossed the room and placed his bag on the counter that he realized. The radio fell out, cluttering against the tile. It was running, a little purple light near the volume switch glowing incessantly. Glancing out of the corner of his eye, his heart clenched in his chest. He couldn’t see Cecil. Carlos turned.</p><p>Cecil was leaning against the wall near him. Vague at the edges, his right hand gripped his arm. His lips were still.</p><p>The radio continued- <em> And Janice’s doing well too, she- </em> Cecil looked at him, caught his wide eyes, the panicked stutter of his pulse. <em> Carlos? Are you alright? </em></p><p>In a short stride, Carlos moved to hold Cecil’s arms, making sure that he was there, that he was stable. “Cecil, please.” Desperation creeped in at the edges of his voice. He couldn’t lose him, not now. “Use your mouth.”</p><p>Cecil blinked. His face scrunched up a little, then relaxed. His mouth opened slowly. “I mean,” It widened into a cheeky grin. “-I’d like to?”</p><p>All at once, Carlos sighed. The tension he didn’t know he was holding left his arms, and he hung his head with a chuckle. Lifting his face a little, he looked at him. “C’mere,” he leaned in, and Cecil met him halfway, pressing his mouth against his. </p><p> </p><p>Carlos always knew Cecil had a loose relationship with humanity. His grasp on it was delicate at best, but somehow, being close to others helped.</p><p>That was why, when Jon asked Cecil about his past, Carlos understood all too well the dark, defensive look that crossed Cecil’s face.</p><p>It wasn’t difficult to catch on: the two were similar. Their abilities, the power of their voices, hinted towards it, the results of the labs only proved it. At the end of it, sat at the table in the lab, Jon only had one question:</p><p>“So why does your Beholding show itself at all times, and mine only when I’m using it?” Hiding behind his strange words in that foreign, refined voice of his.</p><p>The casual smile drained from Cecil’s expression. “You had an anchor when you- Became, I guess. You’re still mostly human.”</p><p>Carlos would be a fool if he didn’t pick up the subtle envy in his words.</p><p> </p><p>Jon had struggled with that, his brows furrowing just a bit. His hand clenched into a fist. Looking at Cecil, the Martin, his vision landed on the table. “I- don’t understand.” </p><p>Cecil’s shoulders tensed. “I can’t explain.”</p><p>Jon looked up, more than a little incredulous.</p><p>“<em> Look </em> .” Cecil leaned forward. “I’ve spent a lot of re-education sessions and almost panic attacks just <em> nearing </em> what happened to me- I can’t.” A hard look flashed in his eyes. “I just can’t.”</p><p>Leaning back in his seat, Jon gazed at him. Carlos could practically <em> hear </em> the gears of his mind working. “What if I helped?”</p><p>Cecil straightened, a little more alert.</p><p>“If I take your statement, maybe you can find the words.” He inhaled. “Without the fear.”</p><p>The subtle whirring of the scientific instruments filled the air as Cecil leaned back in his seat, considering. His muscles shifted, slightly, under the reaching curves of his tattoos, the tendrils wrapping his arms, his torso in a possessive manner.</p><p>“Okay,” Cecil breathed. “I’ll make a statement.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>add on: reflecting on this chapter made me remember that one bit Cecil said about Steve? about how the actual reason he disliked him was because he made Cecil no longer needed in Janice and Abby’s lives, filling the role of the third person in their family? and how that plays into how lonely/unhappy Cecil was feeling in the beginning of the show?<br/>yeah I’m going to think about cecilos instead. that’s enough sad for one night</p><p>edit 10/16/20:<br/>Fixed up the paragraph after the lab. Added a sentence.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. a line you can never cross twice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>" As my mother used to tell me, "Someone’s going to kill you one day, Cecil, and it will involve a mirror.""<br/>- Cecil Palmer, Faceless Old Woman</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>small cws: isolation, capitalism, implied character death (in the past though!!)<br/>really just remembering the events of Cassettes (from WTNV)<br/>spoilers for the WTNV live show Ghost Stories. listen to it if you haven't yet! it's rlly good :&gt;</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Statement of Cecil Palmer, regarding.. Himself. Statement recorded direct from subject- uh.” Jon blinked. “What is the date?”</p><p>“Good question,” Cecil replied brightly.</p><p>With a long-enduring sigh, Jon backtracked, “Statement recorded from subject- <em> sometime </em>.”</p><p>True to its nature, a small tape recorder was already on the table’s surface, quietly whirring away. He acknowledged it with a glance. Truth be told, Jon wasn’t really sure whether he was really doing this for Cecil, or himself.</p><p>“Where should I start?” The entity asked.</p><p>On one hand, he felt like Cecil had the right to know his past. Living a life drowned in mystery and oblivious fallacies could only go on healthily for so long. On the other.. Jon was painfully curious. This avatar was unlike any he had ever come across-the only one like himself. Still walking the careful line between humanity and insanity, while most avatars simply dived straight in. On top of that, he couldn’t pin him down to a single fear. The Eye was closest, but.. For some selfish reason, Jon felt that he would <em> know </em> if Cecil served the same as he.</p><p>Maybe, if he figured Cecil out, then it was possible.. He could begin to understand himself, as well.</p><p>“Some background would suffice,” Jon responded. A familiar pattern was already beginning to take shape. A thousand different statements, the same exact dance.</p><p>The chair across the table scooched quietly against the floor as Carlos pushed it back and stood, returning to his tests at the lab. The unfathomable beings were still approaching fast. Jon could see him glancing back to Cecil every few moments, subtly listening to his words.</p><p>“Well,” Cecil exhaled. “I have a sister. Had a mother.”</p><p>As if flipping through a family album, images of a small family flashed through Jon’s mind. A mother, pale in the desert heat, a small, tan, daughter in her arms. Another showed a boy, smile bright as the sun, black hair in careful swoops of curls over his glasses. His eyes were dark, the desert earth after a rain. Non-luminescent blood, crimson in its entirety. With a shock, Jon understood that this <em> was </em> Cecil- a sharp juxtaposition to the otherworldly man that sat before him.</p><p>Cecil glossed over his story, trying to wrap up a messy present with a neat bow, like trying to wrap a jumble of rocks with wrapping paper and failing awkwardly. It started out nice: a mother, a daughter, until he mentioned that father that left. His fingers clenched, and continued, smoothing it over with his sister who went to college, a friend from boy scouts, a neighbor that reminded him of the grandmother he never met. Night Vale Community Radio presided over it all, haunting his life since he was five, when the prophecies were revealed. He was going to become the Voice, and there was nothing he could do to avoid it. Cecil was thrilled. With an unconscious smile, he recounted how he idolized Leonard Burton, how he ran around the house with his tape recorder, making notes like a tiny journalist in training.</p><p>Arranging a program on the computer, Carlos fought to hide a smile.</p><p>Cecil noticed and looked at his hands, a violet flush tinting the tips of his ears. The weaving story rolled in his dulcet tones, so smooth and bright that Jon nearly missed the hitch in his voice when he said, “And then mom left.”</p><p>“I-  sorry?” Jon stuttered.</p><p>“I mean, it was fine- I’m fine,” He stammered. “I mean, she covered all the mirrors so- still looking out for my safety. She cared. It’s fine.”</p><p>Pressing the tips of his fingers together, Jon chose his words carefully, “You’re not on the radio right now, Cecil.” and watched the defensive flash of his eyes. “You can be honest.”</p><p>Shoulders tensed, Cecil didn’t meet his eyes. “I was alone for four days,” he admitted.</p><p>An empty house. A vacant bed. Abandoned beer bottles cluttered on the table. Too spacious walls for one child to fill, just him and his recorder and his words, weaving stories through the air as he desperately tried to replace that empty space with sound. The absent shape of his mother was a void, sucking in his voice and the air he breathed. But he didn’t stop.</p><p>There was no longer a car in the spot outside the house. The next day there was, but it was different. A mottled yellow instead of gray. Someone had seen the unused spot and taken it for themselves. </p><p>The cereal was going stale, and there was a flickering in the corner of his eye. Each time he spoke, performed to his recorder, it was there. A hungry presence, waiting impatiently.</p><p>Jon blinked. He Understood, and he wasn’t sure if that was because of his own powers- or Cecil’s.</p><p>“What-” his tongue was glued to the bottom of his mouth. “Uh. What happened next?”</p><p>Cecil looked at him blankly. </p><p>“You were saying-”</p><p>Slowly, Cecil began shaking his head. Confusion welled up in his expression, his eyebrows contorting slightly. “I don’t think I was-..” He looked vaguely lost.</p><p>With a huff, Jon leaned forward in his chair, his next words dripping off his tongue and hanging thick in the air, “<em> What happened after your mother left? </em>”</p><p>“I was killed.”</p><p>The veil was gone. Mirror in the hall, glaring back at him. Flickering, flickering, dark tendrils barely there. His wide, terrified brown eyes. Chest rising in panicked pants under the purple intern shirt. Cassette gripped tight between his fingers. </p><p>“<em> The flickering movement is just…behind me. I– </em>”</p><p>It lunges.</p><p>Glass shattered on the cold floor. Wrenched back to the present, Jon stared at Cecil’s shocked expression, his desert skin drained of color in the harsh light. His hand was on his neck, grasping at a phantom pain.</p><p>“<em> What </em>?” came Carlos’ gasp. Jon looked, and there was a flask, cracked in three on the hard tile. “What?”</p><p>Cecil looked at him, but before he could open his mouth to speak, Jon’s mind was flooded.</p><p>Not with the announcer’s memories this time, but his own.</p><p>A theater. Tim’s face, the last grin he’d ever give. Click of a switch. Blast. Heat tearing into his skin. Months upon months of silence. Preserved by the Beholding alone.</p><p>Twin events. Lines you can never cross twice.</p><p>“-the hospital, next. I guess Josie heard the scream.”</p><p>Jon didn’t remember asking, but the words still fizzled on his tongue. </p><p>“That’s when one of these first showed up-” he raised his forearm. “Just one tendril, wrapping around.” </p><p>“When you said you didn’t have an anchor-”</p><p>“I wasn’t kidding.”</p><p>An empty house, a distant sister, a single child. Cecil was amiable at school, outgoing. The kind of kid who was friends with everyone, but close to no one. The loneliest kind of warmth.</p><p>All at once, Jon wondered if that was purposeful. Wait for the right time to strike. <em> But </em> why <em> would they- </em> Jon cursed his beholding, for the information was granted to him in an instant. Make your employee reliant on you, and he’ll never disobey again. Protect him by stealing his humanity, his reliance on flesh and blood, and be ensured that he’ll be in one piece when the time comes to use him. Jon felt a little sick. </p><p>
  <span>Cecil’s voice, low and hesitant, broke through his thoughts. “It was okay, though.” The flare of his eyes seemed to be receding, dimming into a more natural subtlety. “Abby had to come home from college, but- I had someone to look after me, no matter how-.. Tense it was, after.” He was quiet for a moment, and Jon Understood how two people can live in the same house and still clash at every point of contact, both blaming each other for something they could not control. After a moment, Cecil finally spoke. “.. I don’t understand,” he whispered, looking up from the table to Jon. “You said you served- what- an fear entity?”</span>
</p><p>“.. Yes.”</p><p>Cecil was silent for a moment. “I don’t- That’s not. I don’t think that’s what Station Management wants. Fear. Or maybe it is- but it’s not what they need me for.”</p><p>Jon leaned back in his chair. It squeaked a little under the pressure. “What do <em> you </em>think they want?”</p><p>Clarity reflected in his eyes, like the clouds parting for the sun. “To protect Night Vale.”</p><p>The tape recorder clicked off. Carlos had moved to sit beside Cecil, watching him with a swirl of caution and concern.</p><p>Still, Jon felt like he had to ask. “Are you okay?”his voice came hesitantly, unsure what to expect. There were only so many ways you can react to reliving your own death.</p><p>To his surprise, Cecil nodded.</p><p>“.. What?”</p><p>His hand ran through his hair, combing through the dark curls, down to the white tips. “I mean, <em> yeah </em> .” He glanced at Carlos, just once, before looking back at Jon. “Sure, it’s been difficult in the past but- I.. Now I know the <em> reason </em>.”</p><p>Jon’s eyes narrowed. “How-..”</p><p>“I’ve always been so <em> afraid </em> of mirrors and- and Station Management and losing myself but now it’s not just in my own head.” He inhaled quickly, a little gasp of realization. “It’s external.”</p><p>“But-” Jon found frustration welling up in his chest. ‘You- didn’t have an anchor. You were worse off than me, how can you be- <em> fine </em>?”</p><p>A smile cracked open on Cecil’s face. “Well- I was alone <em> then </em> , but I’m not now. I’ve got my sister, and my niece, and <em> friends </em>, and- and Carlos.” His voice went soft at the end.</p><p>“But you said it yourself, though- You’re not human.” Jon insisted.</p><p>“Not for the most part, maybe, but-” Cecil shrugged. “I don’t think it’s <em> what </em> you are that determines humanity. It’s how you choose to live.”</p><p>A scoff escaped him.</p><p>Pressure, warm and constant, appeared on his hand, which was resting on the table. He glanced over to see Martin’s hand on his, concern in his eyes. “Jon?” He asked, and Jon noticed the tension between his eyebrows, the tightness in his chest.</p><p>His chair <em> screeched </em> against the floor as he stood. “I’m sorry,” Jon mumbled and turned towards the laboratory.</p><p> </p><p>Jon pressed himself against the far wall. Unease squirmed in his gut. </p><p>The entity was inhuman, he admitted it himself, yet he was more stable than Jon had ever been.</p><p><em> If he’s fine </em> , Jon reflected. <em> Then is the problem, not with the Eye, but with me? </em></p><p>His arms crossed tighter over his chest, hands balled into fists. Knuckles turning white.</p><p>Catching sight of a familiar face, he relaxed just a bit, tension draining from his muscles. Martin was approaching.</p><p>He leaned against the wall beside him, his soft, brown eyes considering him kindly.</p><p>Jon felt an urging in his throat, unspoken words pressing up behind his tongue.<br/>
If Cecil’s statement taught him anything- it was this: he could have had it worse.</p><p>“Martin,” Jon rasped. </p><p>His eyes lit up behind the frames, as if he’d been waiting to hear his voice.</p><p>Jon’s gaze rested on him, and he remembered. Tea on the desk. A hospital chair, waiting by Jon’s bed. Tapes piled atop a coffin’s case. The small, endless acts of patience that grounded him to the earth. “I’m glad you were there,” he offered.</p><p>Martin’s mouth curved into a smile. “Me too.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>next time: more night vale, less beholding<br/>perhaps martin's pov? &gt;:3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. purpose</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>They approach.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As Carlos ran his tests, brows furrowed as the lab’s antenna scanned the approaching shadows (some small part of him found it wrong to call them creatures. They didn’t fit the word- not yet), Martin absentmindedly rummaged through the laboratory drawers. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do. Jon was over by Carlos, trying to pitch in with the effort. He had pushed up the sleeves of his shirt, then pulled them back down when he realized Cecil’s button-up was arranged the same, with the sleeves folded around the elbows to reveal the tattoos reaching up his forearms. His version of <em> help </em> was running a little shakily.</p><p>(<em> “.. Have you tried using cameras?”) </em></p><p>(“<em> They, uh- don’t show up on cameras, Jon.”) </em></p><p>(“<em> Right. Of course.” He would tap his fingers on the counter top.) </em></p><p>(“<em> There </em> are <em> thermal cameras near the bus stop. </em>”)</p><p>(“<em> Oh!” </em>)</p><p>(“<em> They don’t show up on those either. </em>”)</p><p>(“<em> .. Oh. </em> ”)<br/>
Spindly legs ran over his hand. Martin flinched, eyes fixed on the drawer. As the tarantula snuck into the light, he breathed a little sigh of relief. His words came out in a cooing whisper, “ <em> you surprised me there </em>.” The tarantula skittered along the side of the drawer and onto the countertop. In the fluorescent light, Martin saw with a start that it had three legs too many. “Okay, then,” was his reply.</p><p>Jon’s voice carried faintly across the room.</p><p>(“<em> Oh- There’s an alert! Did it find something? </em>”)</p><p>(“<em> .. That’s my virus protector reminding me to renew it. </em>”)</p><p>(“.. <em> Ah. </em>”)</p><p>Martin fought against the snicker rising in his chest. It wouldn’t help Jon now to hear Martin laughing at him, but god <em> damn </em> it he can be so cute. Forcing himself to draw his attention away from the two, Martin got the feeling he’s going to have to help Jon with technology a <em> lot </em> when all this is over.</p><p><em> Woah. Slow down </em> . Heat warmed his face. They hadn’t even reversed the apocalypse- much less discussed <em> living </em> together, he- Martin took a glance towards Jon, then looked back at the drawer. <em> He didn’t notice. Thank god. </em> Martin looked up, an incredulous look passing over his face. <em> Notice what? Your thoughts? </em></p><p>Biting down on his lip to stop his rebellious brain, Martin inhaled through his nose. Exhaling softly, he buried his attention in the drawer again.</p><p>As he pulled it out, something rolled inside, clinking against the wood. Cold metal pressed against his fingertips. His hand reached around it and pulled out- a microphone, even more old fashioned than Jon’s recorders. Gleaming silver in the light, the clean cylinder was connected to a round base, dark grooves in its sides.</p><p>“Hey Cecil?” Martin called. They had traded names in the car. He looked over to where Cecil was sipping coffee at the table.</p><p>Cecil perked up at the sound of his name.</p><p>Lifting the microphone into the air, Martin waved it a bit. “Found something?”</p><p>His face lit up like the lights above the arctic, the shine of his eyes brightening a bit. </p><p>Martin had a feeling he wanted to see this.</p><p> </p><p>The night sky was awash with violet light. Hazy, mottled stars scattered across the desert sky. Without elevation to cut it off, the heavens created a dome around the town- just void and stars and nebulous lights. It stole Martin’s breath away, for a moment. Silver clouds were creeping over the horizon, wisps in the moonlight. The moon stared down at him, the lab, highlighted by its halo of eye-shaped luminescence. Over by the Arby’s, there was a display of color and light that resembled the Aurora Borealis, although Martin had only seen it in pictures. It flickered out into nothing when he looked at it from certain angles.</p><p>Perched on the rooftop, the announcer was fiddling with the microphone. A thin, silver cable ran up the shingles, connecting the input to the antenna.</p><p>Martin leaned on the back of a car, gazing up at the mirage of darkness and light, drenched in a violet tint, before his eyes drifted to the announcer as he began his broadcast.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em> Don’t fear the dark. It’s probably more scared of you. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Welcome to Night Vale </em>
</p><p> </p><p>His shoulders have relaxed, the tension drained from his form despite his perfect posture. The glow of his eyes shines in the night, like the reflection of a cat's eyes against the light. He speaks, but the words that leave his mouth ring with a different kind of resonance.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Now you might be asking, two broadcasts in one night? Isn’t that a bit unorthodox? </em>
</p><p><em> But, what </em> is <em> time, really? How do we know it’s the same night? </em></p><p><em> Oh! I am obligated to inform you that if you </em> <b> <em>do</em> </b> <em> have the answer to that, you are to contact City Council immediately. You have far more information than you should. </em></p><p>
  <em> Let’s have a look at traffic. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Cecil blinks, and when he looks up again, his eyes are blank, awash with white. The sharpened oval above, reminiscent of an eye, glows a little brighter.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Half-formed shadows which cannot be seen  are making their approach. An intern hides in the studio, shuttering the blinds as her panicked breaths try to escape her chest. She did not look upon them, and so she is safe. </em>
</p><p><em> A deer has wandered into town, guileless and unaware. It nibbles at a plant. A little sapling, barely sprouted, far before it can bear fruit. </em> <em><br/>
</em> <em> It’s in their path. </em></p><p>
  <em> They swarm. Dissolving, assimilating. Half of the deer’s tail is gone before it jumps an hour in time- as deer are known to do- narrowly avoiding an unfortunate death. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The creatures- for they can be called that now, with their lungs and ears and heart-shaped voids, turn their eyes on the yard. A vague approximation of borrowed instincts burrows into them, and they continue their descent. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Like a switch flicking off, Cecil blinks and his irises return, the white and black and luminescent violet that make up his eyes.</p><p> </p><p><em> This has been traffic </em>.</p><p> </p><p>Martin’s heart stuttered in his chest. Without hesitation, he looked through the glass on the laboratory’s window and caught eyes with Jon. The radio was playing beside him, likely brought by Carlos, a soft smile as he worked. Martin raised his eyebrows in a look that said <em> did I just hallucinate that? </em> Jon nodded, as if to say <em> no, no, I heard it too. </em></p><p>Okay, then.</p><p>With an inhale of cold desert air, Martin looked back up at the announcer.</p><p>He was still talking.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> -and our town’s loveliest scientist is working to identify them. For now, City Council warns you to steer clear of these other-dimensional beings. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Remember: we’ve faced worse before, and we’ve survived. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Or, most of us did. Here’s to most of us. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The clouds were closer now. Silver wisps, like cotton stringed across the sky, woven not from fiber, but from mercury, its metallic sheen reflecting the low moonlight. They began to cover the eye constructed from the heavens.</p><p> </p><p><em> And now, the weather </em>.</p><p> </p><p>Raindrops barraged Martin in an instant. The sharp scent of petrichor hit his nose, and he ducked his head from rain.</p><p>On the roof, Cecil yelped, the bright glow of his eyes cutting out to a subtle sheen. He grabbed his microphone and scrambled down the side of the roof. For a moment, Martin couldn’t see him. There was just a shower of water, tapping intensely on the pristine building, clear drops sliding down the windows. Over the continuous, rapping sound of rain, Martin could swear.. </p><p>No, that’s impossible.</p><p>Soft, the strum of guitar in tune with the pulsing storm clouds. A voice, singing melancholy about lost love or scorpions or something- Martin was a bit too bewildered to pick up on the subtle metaphors hidden in the lyrics because there was <em> music </em> in the <em> rain </em>.</p><p>Cecil hopped off the ladder and ran towards him. Near the door now, he asked, “Should probably get back inside, huh?”</p><p>Martin stared at him, his mouth hanging open a little.</p><p>“The weather sounds nice today,” Cecil commented before heading inside.</p><p> </p><p>Catching the door before it closed, Martin had to ask: “How did you do that thing?”</p><p>“Huh?” Cecil glanced back at him. The other two were on the far side of the room. In their hushed tones, it was unlikely Carlos and Jon could hear them.</p><p>“The-” he huffed. “You saw the creatures, but they weren’t anywhere near us.”</p><p>A look of confusion passed over Cecil’s face, his brows furrowing slightly</p><p>The sigil on his forehead caught Martin’s gaze. Like an apparition, it glowed softly, a crude sketch of an eye floated there, vaguely witchy in design.</p><p>“Does it have to do with your third eye?” he asked.</p><p>Cecil stopped walking, his shoe hitting the ground with a short <em> tap </em>.</p><p>Martin was almost afraid that he said something wrong, when Cecil turned to him, his eyes wide, and said, “my <em> what? </em>”</p><p> </p><p>Pacing in front on the whiteboard, Jon ran a hand over his hair. There was a boxy Venn diagram, drawn in neat marker lines. The words inside were written in sharp, green script. The weather played overhead, tapping insistently on the roof. Music still hummed in its pleasant tone, intermixed with the rain.</p><p>Jon stopped and turned towards the whiteboard, partially toward the others. The chairs at the table were turned, facing where the whiteboard had been dragged. “<em> So </em> ,” he began. “So far, on Cecil’s side we have we have limited clairvoyance, <em> possible </em> mind control,”</p><p>Cecil made a disbelieving snort.</p><p>“Am I missing anything?”</p><p>Hand postured over his mouth thoughtfully, Carlos said, “Healing?”</p><p>“<em> What? </em>” Cecil blurted.</p><p>Jon pointed in agreement. “And healing,” he turns to write it down in the middle. His hand froze, partway through tracing the word on the board. </p><p>On Cecil’s side, there was the word <em> cute </em> scribbled in dirty orange marker.</p><p>“Okay, who wrote that?” He turned on them accusingly.</p><p>Carlos busied himself, picking at the tips of his nails.</p><p>“This is an <em> investigation </em> and <em> cute </em> is <em> not </em> a supernatural ability, now- Yes, Martin?”</p><p>Martin lowered his hand from the air. “Yeah, I have an issue with our data?”</p><p>“Go on.”</p><p>“At the very least, <em> cute </em> should be in the middle. Not just on Cecil’s side.” A warmth bloomed in his chest at the sight of Jon’s face going red. The way he opened his mouth to speak, but spluttered instead.</p><p>Carlos looked up. “Oh damn, I didn’t think of that,” he apologized. Brandishing an orange marker, he asked, “-Want to use mine?”</p><p>Face buried in his hands, the tips of Cecil’s ears were a bright violet. He had been like that for the last minute or so.</p><p>“I’m good,” Martin replied and stood. Grabbing a blue marker from the edge of the board, he scrubbed the <em> cute </em> off of Cecil’s side and wrote it in the overlap.</p><p>Jon’s face was still red. “This is supposed to be a scientific discussion.”</p><p>“Oh, no, it’s very scientific,” Carlos replied.</p><p>Prying his hands away from his face, Cecil pleaded, “Can we get back to the supposed powers I’m not sure I believe in?”</p><p>“<em> Please </em>,” Jon squeaked.</p><p>Returning to his chair, Martin laughed. “Yes, of course.’</p><p>“<em> Okay </em> .” Jon huffed. “Now, back to the question at h-” He glared at Carlos’ raised hand, seething. “ <em> Yes </em>, Carlos?”</p><p>“Does <em> potential night light</em> count as an avatar ability?”</p><p>Cecil looked at him sharply, betrayal in the angle of his brows, the pitch of his voice. “<em> Carlos </em>.”</p><p>“I think that would go in the middle,” Martin chimed.</p><p>Jon slammed his marker down on the edge of the whiteboard. “No. It doesn’t.”</p><p>They went silent.</p><p>“The glow is not<em> nearly </em> strong enough to constitute as a night light. It would be a <em> reading</em> light, if <em> anything </em>.” He was fighting back a smile now. “Do I need to read you the Wikipedia page for the wattage of night lights? Because I will.”</p><p>Martin was laughing now. “No, no, I think we’re good, Jon.”</p><p>“Great!”</p><p> </p><p>They continued for a little while longer, to Cecil’s disbelief, until they decided to take a break. When Jon returned from the restroom, he found that <em> post apocalyptic Google </em> had been written in dark blue on his side of the board. Martin watched him sigh affectionately and throw him a glare, no real heat behind it. Martin shot him a playful grin.</p><p>The weather continued on longer than expected, so they had time to spare. Cecil had taken to sitting on the counter near the radio, listening to the soft hum of static as if it was the same as the music outside. He seemed to take a particular  joy in distracting Carlos when he could, like complimenting him when he was working and nearly causing him to drop another glass. Cecil would laugh, and Carlos would look away to hide the blush creeping up his neck.</p><p>No one <em> saw </em> anyone else add onto the white board, but more scribbles would appear anyway.<br/>
In the middle section, in purple marker, under the green <em> light to read by </em> someone wrote in purple <em> but not a flashlight!! </em> . The green marker crossed out <em> flashlight </em> and wrote <em> torch </em> without any room to argue.<br/>
Apparently someone saw it unfit that only Cecil and Jon got the spotlight (likely Cecil or Jon themselves) and made a smaller section off to the side for Martin and Carlos. Under Martin’s side, it was listed <em> tea </em> and <em> kindness </em> in green, and <em> arson </em> in blue. On Carlos’ side, someone wrote <em> cute hair </em> , <em> science </em> , and <em> i just love him okay </em> all in purple marker.</p><p>Jon and Cecil refused to comment on the additions.</p><p>Twenty minutes later, Martin found esoteric, foreign script written in shaky, black marker along the bottom of the board. Swallowing all light that touched it, the color stood in stark contrast to the board itself, as if it wasn’t on the same dimension at all. Martin decided to ignore it.</p><p> </p><p>Ten minutes later, Cecil and Jon had struck up an argument on Cecil’s powers.</p><p>“I’m just not convinced!” Cecil defended. “I think if I had <em> clairvoyance </em> or whatever, then I’d <em> know </em>.”</p><p>With a huff, Jon put his hand on the counter. “How do you know what’s happening in town, then?” He challenged.</p><p>“I have interns in the field!” Cecil’s hands went up to emphasize.</p><p>“Okay.” Jon’s stare intensified. “And how do you know what the <em> interns </em>are seeing?”</p><p>“I-” The force faded from Cecil’s tone. His eyes went wide, realization slowly dawning on him. “Oh. Shit.”</p><p> </p><p>Five minutes later, the incessant drum of the rain lightened. Cecil sighed almost immediately. Grabbing his microphone, he hopped off the counter. “Show’s starting again soon,” he said and pecked a kiss to Carlos’ cheek. Carlos leaned into the touch, smiling despite himself.<br/>
Cecil turned toward them as if gliding on air. “Want to come with?” He asked.</p><p>Nodding, Martin moved to join him at the door. Just before leaving, he glanced back toward Jon.<br/>
Jon was looking at them, conflict reflecting in his eyes, burrowing in the pinch between his brows. He looked at Carlos, opening his mouth.</p><p>“Go ahead,” Carlos reassured him. “I’ll be fine on my own. Plus, I’ve got the radio to keep me company.”</p><p>Jon’s brows furrowed a little. “Don’t you have lab assistants?”</p><p>Carlos sighed. “Yes, but Nils is on a date, and the others-” A sharp intake of air. His fingers twirled the marker in his hands. “I can’t ask them to cross town right now, not with-”</p><p>“Right.”</p><p>Carlos looked at him. Martin wondered how many scientists he had lost. He noted the touches of premature gray at his temples. Not unlike Jon’s.</p><p>“Go on,” Carlos encouraged.</p><p>With a nod, Jon hurried to join Martin at the door.</p><p> </p><p>The nebulous sky was just as beautiful when they returned. Jon’s dark eyes went wide at the mirage of light, the heavens reaching down to envelop the earth on all sides.</p><p>“It’s-,” he breathed, awed.</p><p>“Yeah,” Martin agreed. With a smile, he slipped a hand around Jon’s waist and pulled him close under the night sky. </p><p>Jon’s head rested on his shoulder, chest rising with a slow intake of air. He released it in a contented sigh. His eyelids fluttered close as Cecil’s voice resonated above them.</p><p> </p><p><em> Their motives are still unclear, as their hazy forms are, but you are advised to stay in your homes and </em> <b> <em>away</em> </b> <em> from the approaching creatures. Yes, I’m looking at you- ah, talking to you.  </em></p><p>
  <em> Right. They- their.  </em>
</p><p>Cecil cleared his throat. The weight of his newfound clarity rested clumsily in his hands.</p><p>
  <em> If they only mean to pass through, then we will be in luck. If they truly mean to devour the town, then- .. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Well, that’s what our bloodstone circles are for, aren’t they? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> On a similar note, City Council would like me to remind you that- you … </em>
</p><p>His eyes went a little wide, locked onto something down the street.</p><p>Martin turned his head, trying not to move Jon where he rested.</p><p> </p><p>A hazy form just beyond the parking lot, solidifying. A creature stood in the vague shape of a deer- no, two. Three. More. They fizzed in and out of reality, eyes flashing with an otherlight. Their soft, brown fur ruffled in the cold night air, their wet, round noses glistening in the moonlight. Grass struck up, sprouting from their inner ears, sticking out of their eye sockets. The deer in front dug its heel against the dirt.</p><p> </p><p><em> Oh </em>.</p><p>Cecil’s voice drifted through the air.</p><p><em> They’re here </em>.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>the boys can have a little messing around, as a treat</p><p>9/4/20 update:<br/>If you liked my version of Cecil’s broadcast, you might like this WTNV roleplay/creative writing server I started recently:<br/>https://discord.gg/Yfmer8b<br/>It involves regular story-involved broadcasts from both Night Vale and Desert Bluffs. We’ve been having a lot of fun with the concept recently, and it would be even more fun if you joined!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. unfathomable</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>They’re here.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>cw: danger, violence?<br/>also the POV switches from scene to scene (martin --&gt; cecil --&gt; jon --&gt; carlos --&gt; jon)<br/>the dialogue when jon reflects on his first meeting with martin is from the TMA liveshow</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Good night, Night Vale, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Goodnight. </em>
</p><p>Cecil hurriedly ended the broadcast, pulling the cord from its plug with a yank. “Get inside.” His voice was a low growl.</p><p>Martin looked at him. “What?”</p><p>
  <em> Get inside! </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The doors slammed shut behind him. Panting, Martin leaned on the wall. His head swam, confused by the sudden fluorescent lights of the lab.<br/>Carlos was jogging up to him. “Where’s Cecil?” he asked.</p><p>“I-” Martin stuttered, and looked around him. Jon was there, brows furrowed in confusion. “He’s still-”</p><p>“God <em> damn </em> it, Cecil,” Carlos cursed. Pushing Martin out of the way, he ran to the door.</p><p>“Why would he compel us to leave?” The green glow was pulsing behind Jon’s eyes like a headache. Subtle rebellion of the Beholding’s  light. The Eye did <em> not </em> like to be controlled.</p><p>Pressing his hands to the glass, Carlos peered outside. “He knew he wouldn’t make it down fast enough. <em> Shit </em>.” He swallowed. “I’m going out there.”</p><p>Jon grabbed Carlos’ arm. “You can’t! Those things-”</p><p>Whirling on him, Carlos snapped, “Would you do it if it was <em> him </em>?”</p><p>A sharp intake of breath. Jon tensed, leaning back from him. “Yes.” The word came from him as if he was compelled. As if it was obvious.</p><p>“Then you can understand.” Turning, Carlos grabbed a sealed flask. Green, transparent sludge rolled inside.</p><p>Martin’s hand had found Jon’s arm, subconsciously keeping him from running straight into danger. “What’s that?” He asked.</p><p>“Slime.” </p><p>“Like, radioactive, or-”</p><p>“Uh, no, actually, just-” Carlos held up the thing. “Water, glue, and dye. Some glitter. It was a serious experiment.”</p><p>“I see,” Jon drawled.</p><p>Carlos ignored the tone. “Point <em> is </em>.” He huffed, hand on the door. “If they adapt to things they absorb, then this might help make them useless.”</p><p>Hands tensed in his sleeves, hope dawned on Jon’s face. “That- that might work.”</p><p>“Yeah, well, it fucking better.”</p><p>Wrenching the door open, Carlos fled through. It slammed behind him.</p><p> </p><p>Chest rising in panicked breaths, Cecil perched on the laboratory's roof, the command still fizzing on his tongue. Inhale. Cold, dry air down his throat. He ran his hand through his curls, watching the creatures approach. Cecil hadn’t been sure if his Voice would work on anyone who was an outsider to Night Vale- or anyone <em> at all </em>. Part of him was still frozen in shock by the result. Knuckles white around the silver microphone stem, Cecil gripped it like a lifeline. Ice cold adrenaline was running through his system. He glanced down at his wrist and the thin veins just beneath his palm and did a sharp gasp at the intense violet glow pulsing up his arm.</p><p>That’s when he knew: These creatures <em> must </em> be a threat. Even the inhuman part of him was scared.</p><p>Feet pressing against the roof, Cecil scrambled back. Wrapping the cord around his wrist, he made a dash for the ladder. At the top, the ground swayed beneath him, and a thought raced through his head: <em> is it really any safer down there? </em> He looked over his shoulder at the approaching pseudo-deer. <em> Or will they get me either way? </em></p><p>Cecil was beginning to regret leaving his studio.</p><p> </p><p>“I should be out there,” Jon insisted.</p><p>“Nope!” Martin pushed his hands on his chest, a gesture that meant he was to stay <em> put </em> . “Throwing yourself into danger is <em> not </em> going to help them.”</p><p>“But the Beholding-!”</p><p>“Jon! Do you even <em> feel </em> the Beholding right now?” Martin’s hands fell to his sides. “‘Cause I’m pretty sure the only <em> Ceaseless Watcher </em> around here is Cecil himself.</p><p>Looking away, Jon pursed his lips. Martin had a point, and he hated it. The Eye’s power existed within himself, but when he searched out.. There was nothing. The great, watchful presence that had haunted him for <em> years </em> was simply missing, leaving an empty cavity in his chest.</p><p>Well, there <em> were </em>the cameras hidden in the plants, as well as the eye in the sky, but.. It wasn’t the same. </p><p>“No,” Jon admitted. “It isn’t here.”</p><p>Martin sighed. “Look, if we try, there might be a way we could help that <em> doesn’t </em> involve getting yourself killed.”</p><p>With a nod, he said, “Alright.” The unfamiliar lab was daunting. Full of strange equipment, technology, and stranger notes. The spacious walls reminded Jon of the vast, the pristine and modern design far too impersonal for his comfort. “Let’s see what we can do.”</p><p> </p><p>Carlos’ shoes scrabbled on the concrete as he turned sharply. Sprinting along the length of the building, the flask was tight in his grasp. “Cecil?” He called, skidding to a stop at the corner. The large, glass building loomed above him, mysterious lights reflecting off its blue surface. “Cecil!”</p><p>There was a shape at the top, leaning over. His neon eyes caught him in the darkness. “<em> Carlos? </em>” The disbelief was clear in his distant voice, and Carlos could swear that the violet glare of his eyes flared. Faint under the wind, his voice came again, uncertain: “You should be inside-”</p><p>“Not without you!”</p><p>There was a swear, huffed, made obscure by the wind. Cecil leaned back over the edge.</p><p>“Cecil?” Carlos called.</p><p>“I’m coming down!” The ladder shifted as Cecil pressed down on it. “How close are they?”</p><p>An icy chill went up his spine at the thought of turning. With an intake of breath, Carlos ignored the tightness of his throat. Placing his fingers on the wall’s edge, he peered around.</p><p>The deer stared him straight-on. It snorted, a cold puff of wind exploding from its nose. Carlos’ curious, hungry eyes scanned the creature, analyzing it. Vague at the edges- like a deer stolen from the dreams of a person who had only seen them in passing. Greenery sprouted up where it shouldn’t. The sight of grass sticking out from under its eyeballs made Carlos feel the need to blink, a phantom itch on the underside of his eyelid.</p><p>“Too close,” he answered.</p><p>With a <em> thump </em> , Cecil dropped to the ground, stumbling a bit. Carlos whirled around and moved to catch him, a hand on his arm. “ <em> Cecil </em>,” he admonished. His eyes scanned him for injuries- a rolled ankle, a limp, or-</p><p>“Let’s go.” he pushed himself up, his voice low and grim. Without looking at Carlos, he began to move forward until he caught him with a hand to the chest. “-Carlos?”</p><p>He swallowed. “We won’t make it.” </p><p>As Cecil met his eyes, Carlos realized with a start how <em> scared </em> he was. With wide eyes, irises shining intensely, the tilt of his eyebrows. It stole Carlos’ breath. He was used to Cecil- fearless, nonchalant in the face of death, not- Carlos cursed himself. He just wasn’t expecting Cecil to act <em> mortal </em>, which was stupid. He had the same capability for fear as the rest of them- he was just used to hiding it under a smile.</p><p>“There’s the back door?” Carlos suggested.</p><p>Cecil glanced to the side, a faint flush tinting the tips of his ears. “I remember.” </p><p>His hand slipped into Cecil’s own, interlacing their fingers together. “C’mon.”</p><p> </p><p>The side of Cecil’s body was warm against his, pressing close in the cold night air. Glass walls flashed by as they hurried past, just not fast enough to draw attention. Paranoia flicked at the back of his head, a small, persistent thought nagging at the back of Carlos’ head.</p><p>“Cecil?” his steps slowed.</p><p>“We need to get inside.”</p><p>“Yeah, I know, but-” He breathed in as Cecil turned to look at him. In the darkness, only the shape of him was visible against the light of the lab. The luminescence of his blood stood in sharp contrast to the persistent black- sharp violet shining in his eyes, pulsing subtly through his neck, all the way down to the veins in his wrist, running through the top of his hand.“What else did they absorb?”</p><p>Cecil’s brows furrowed a little. “I- I’m not sure.” Biting his lip, he quieted. “.. I wasn’t paying attention.”</p><p>A slow intake of icy air. Carlos nodded. “Yeah, we should hurry up.” Every instinct in him said to keep his head forward. Don’t turn. Don’t turn. Don’t- <em> thunk </em>, like a rock hitting the ground behind them. “-Before I get curious again,” Carlos added, and picked up the pace, squeezing Cecil’s hand like a lifeline.</p><p> </p><p>Rounding the corner,</p><p>“Wait-” the words left Cecil’s mouth before he could register them.</p><p>Carlos’ breath caught in his throat. </p><p>Looming over him- a tall, vague approximation of a person, half composed of shadow and loose dirt. Two deer eyes blinked at him, just under the dull human ones, gleaming with hunger. “Shit-” Carlos whirled around, but there were more- a varied group of horrors. Human bones, constructed to resemble a deer stared back at him, nearing Cecil. There was one, a person’s body- t-shirt, jeans- with a deer’s head, laying face-down on the earth, half consumed by the grass there. The rest continued on both sides- a sick collage of borrowed cells. All eyes on them. The shadow person reached-</p><p>Cecil yanked him out of the way. Shoe catching on the uneven rocks, Carlos stumbled and fell- gravity grabbing and pulling down. Arms flying to the ground to catch himself, his coat sleeves scratched against the Earth behind him, dropping-</p><p>The flask catapulted, shattering against the hard rocks. Carlos cursed, but his attention was caught as-</p><p>Reaching past where Carlos was a moment before, the shadow grabbed-</p><p>“<em> Cecil </em> !” His throat hurt with the effort.<br/>With a yelp- avatar or not- the announcer was small in the creature’s grip. One hand, crawling with twitching bugs, grabbed his lavender shirt, the fabric tight in its grip. The other wrapped around his neck and squeezed.</p><p>Cecil squirmed, kicking, hands prying at his throat.</p><p><em> Shit- </em> the sight stabbed his heart. Carlos began to push himself up-</p><p>The creature slammed Cecil against the ground. The metaphorical knife twisted in his chest. Cecil’s head hit the ground with a sickening <em> thud </em>, and fell still. The microphone rolled from his limp fingers.</p><p>Sharp inhale. “<em> Cecil-! </em>” He screamed. Bones hit his chest, and the twisted deer was pressing him down. “Stop! Let him go!” It’s skull pressed harder, the ridge of the bones digging into his skin.</p><p>The shadow’s head swiveled to Carlos with a <em> click. </em> It’s words traveled through the air like it was ripping through the atoms as it passed- <b>“The Voice protects this dimension. We need it vulnerable.”</b></p><p>“He hasn’t <em> done </em> anything to you!”</p><p>It pressed a hoof to Cecil’s chest and pushed down. <b>“Oh, but he has.”</b></p><p>“<em> What </em>?” Carlos demanded.</p><p>
  <b>“He was there.”</b>
</p><p>Claws unleashed from its hands. With a downward swing, Carlos flinched.</p><p>Tendrils caught it mid air. Sharp, dark in the moonlight. </p><p>Icy horror caught in Carlos’ chest. <em> Station -? </em></p><p>His eyes drifted down to Cecil. He was half-pushing himself off the ground, his arm pressing up. The tendrils snaked up his arms, lifting up from his tattoos like ink bleeding off a page. His expression was blank, eyes shining like twin circles of violet lightning. </p><p><b>“What-”</b> The creature’s voice crackled and broke.</p><p>Cecil - <em> Cecil? </em>- surged up, grabbing the shadow’s throat with his other hand. The tendrils moved, wrapping around its cranium. His head tilted, the edge of his jaw catching in the low light, considering. Upon realizing it did not rely on a nervous system, it seemed, Cecil swiveled, bodily slamming the creature to the floor. The muscles of his forearms tensed with a strength far beyond his stature. He turned slowly, toward the remaining abominations. His eyes caught on Carlos’, and he-</p><p>Carlos did not recognize the eyes that stared back at him. </p><p>His heart was caught in a rapid, unsteady rhythm- the panicked beat of a trapped butterfly’s wing. Still leaning back on his forearms, his skin bruised, Carlos felt all too vulnerable. </p><p>Cecil- <em> not Cecil? </em>- took a step forward, and Carlos tensed, fingernails digging into the dirt. Cecil’s arm raised, hand extended. </p><p>Carlos stared at it, then back up at the sharp, luminescent eyes of his boyfriend- except they weren’t his eyes. Cecil’s eyes were dark and warm, the squint of his smiles sending a feeling reminiscent of the desert’s sun on his skin after a long night. Despite their intense light, <em> these </em>eyes were cold.</p><p>
  <em> They won’t stay scared for long. </em>
</p><p>The Voice carried through his phone’s speaker, and Carlos realized- oh. He was offering his hand. Reaching up, Carlos grabbed it, letting Cecil pull him up to standing. As he got his footing, Carlos found himself lingering close to Cecil’s chest, as if his proximity could protect him.</p><p>Those neon eyes glanced past him, toward the creatures.</p><p>
  <em> This community is protected. </em>
</p><p>Came his Voice, but it wasn’t from the speaker this time. It was in the surroundings themselves, the very essence of Night Vale reverberating through the air, bouncing between the oxygen atoms from all angles.<br/>The creatures stared him down.</p><p>Cecil stared back.  He blinked once, twice, confusedly. The light in his eyes flickered- dark, bright, dark, bright. Stumbling, his hand flew to his head, and the light went out- the black pool of his irises filling the space just before his eyes rolled up in his head and he collapsed.</p><p>Carlos started, arms reaching to grab him. They wrapped around his waist just before he hit the ground. Falling to kneel on the hard earth, Carlos cradled his boyfriend close to his chest. His hands shook unsteadily against the fabric of his shirt. Looking up at the creatures, he wondered if all that was enough to scare them off.</p><p>Judging from the skeptical gleam in their deer eyes, their human teeth, Carlos judged that it probably wasn’t.</p><p> </p><p>The filing cabinet <em> clanged </em>closed, hitting against the metal rim. Jon pulled open the one above. His fingertips trailed over the tips of the folders, scanning the information inside.</p><p><em> Angels, 1983 - the end of the world, Dog Park, </em> the titles and their contents flipped through his mind, the eyes along his cheekbone, under his jaw, opened and peered through.</p><p>“It’s been a while since we did this, huh?” Martin’s voice carried over his racing thoughts.</p><p>Jon leaned back from the drawer, extraneous eyes sliding closed, looking over toward Martin where he was leaning with his back against the counter, leafing through a binder. “What?”</p><p>“Research?” Martin glanced over the tips of his golden frames before looking back down at the notes. “Just plain research. No <em> rituals </em>over our heads.” His eyebrows raised at the word.</p><p>Jon’s gaze drifted back to the drawer. “.. Yeah.”</p><p>“It’s kinda nice.” A small laugh escaped him, “hah, even though I wasn’t very good at it.”</p><p>“What?” Jon slid the drawer shut. “You <em> were </em>.”</p><p>Lowering the binder, Martin rolled his eyes and looked at him. “Oh, come <em> on </em>, Jon.”</p><p>“I’m serious!”</p><p>“Really? You?” He placed the binder on the countertop beside him. “Mr. <em> Martin will contribute nothing but delays. </em>”</p><p>Guilt stung like copper on his tongue. “That’s not-” his voice came stilted, weak.</p><p>Martin’s voice dropped as he took on a mocking tone, an approximation of Jon’s voice, “and <em> The format of these citations are so incorrect, it astounds me why he even tries </em>.”</p><p>“-that’s very out of context-” Jon’s breath caught in his throat.</p><p>Martin sighed. “No, it isn’t, Jon.” His gaze fell, fingers pulling absentmindedly at the threads on the sleeve of his jumper. “But, it’s fine. You were right.” He scoffed a laugh. “I had no idea what I was doing.”</p><p>“Hey! That is not true. I was just being an ass.”</p><p>A laugh escaped Martin’s chest. His hand went to cover his mouth.</p><p>Jon’s fingers gripped the cold, metal handle. “I mean, <em> yeah </em>, your work wasn’t exactly what I needed, but I had no idea about your CV.”</p><p>Martin breathed a laugh, smaller and subdued. “What difference does it make?” he asked.</p><p>With a scoff, Jon looked at him. “Are you kidding me?” Crossing the short distance, he placed his hand on the counter beside him. “You were producing work near the level of <em> college graduates </em> when you hadn’t even finished <em> highschool </em>.”</p><p>Dipping his head, a flush tinted his dark skin across his cheeks.</p><p>“<em> And </em>,” Jon continued as if he was listing evidence for a statement. “You adapted insanely fast! Why do you think I was so paranoid before I found out? It didn’t make sense to me.”</p><p>“Also, you were <em> kind </em> of a bastard,” Martin muttered with humor.</p><p>“That too!” At the laugh that escaped Martin, Jon smiled. “Look, you’re really smart. Don’t blame yourself because I couldn’t see that.”</p><p>Martin finally met his eyes, his mouth in a twist of a smile.</p><p>Turning toward the abandoned binder, Jon flipped a page absentmindedly. “That, and- well. Y’know.”</p><p>Martin’s brows furrowed slightly. “And what?”</p><p>“Well-” a quick inhale. Jon sighed, and glanced toward him. “Do you remember what I said during the Prentiss attack?”</p><p>“<em> Jon </em>,” Martin deadpanned. “That was four years ago.”</p><p>“What I said about being scared of the statements, and pretending to be skeptical because- .. It was easier?”</p><p>With a sigh, Martin admitted, “Yeah?”</p><p>“Well, it was like that.” Jon left the binder as he talked, scanning over more notes scattered over the desk. “Being angry was easier.”</p><p>It felt like Martin’s silence was pressing in on him, the void of his words.. “.. Easier than what?”</p><p>Papers under his fingertips, Jon flipped through a small stack. “Falling in love,” he admitted.</p><p>Jon’s breath was shaky under his shirt. His chest rose in an uncertain inhale, and he turned, a brave look towards Martin.</p><p>“<em> Oh. </em>” Was all he said. His dark eyes were  a little round, the flush lingering on his face.</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>Martin’s brows furrowed a bit. “<em> Wait </em>-” His mouth opened to speak, then closed, fingers gripping the end of his sleeve. “Jon, you- y-” Disbelief edging his tone.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Y’know!” His hand flew up, a little exasperated</p><p>Jon breathed a small laugh. “Martin, yes. I had a crush on you.”</p><p>“No, you didn’t.”</p><p>Another laugh bubbled up from his chest. He was brought back to that day in the office- his own voice, dripping with dark skepticism, <em> WHY were you coming into the archives? </em> At the stranger in his office, trying very much not to be distracted by the soft, dark hue of his eyes, the subtle curve of the muscles in his forearms. <em> Oh! Uh, I- </em> the stranger stammered. <em> I work here </em>.</p><p>And, of course, Jon had replied, <em> No, you don’t </em>. </p><p>“Jon, stop laughing!” Martin was fighting back a smile himself. “You couldn’t have!”</p><p>He scoffed with humor. “I thought you knew?”</p><p>“You <em> what? </em>”</p><p>“Well, in the cabin-”</p><p>“I was talking about how you ran into the Lonely for me- not- when you <em> bullied </em> me ‘cause I was bad at archiving.” his words dissolved into laughter. “It wouldn’t have exactly been <em> pining </em>if I thought you felt the same-”</p><p>“Wait, <em> what </em>?”</p><p>Martin’s jaw dropped. “Jon. Don’t tell me you didn’t know.”</p><p>“Well, I-”</p><p>“I was obvious!”</p><p>Jon exhaled sharply. “- at the beginning, I was distracted-”</p><p>“Literally, responsible for like forty percent of my incompetence.”</p><p>He stopped. “- I was?”</p><p>“Well, <em> yeah </em> , kinda.” Martin shrugged. “I would be managing pretty well, then you’d show up in the office all, <em> Good morning, Martin </em>, and suddenly I’m dropping whatever box of files is in my arms.”</p><p>Jon sniggered.</p><p>“God, I was a mess,”</p><p>“No, you weren’t.” Taking a step forward, he neared Martin, brushing  a stray curl back into place. His voice had fallen into something soft, a tone rare for him. “If it’s any consolation, I was probably worse.” There was very little space between them now. Somehow, it felt safer, just being in close proximity, the warmth of his laugh on Jon’s skin.</p><p>“<em> How </em>?” Martin replied, more than a little skeptical.</p><p>Jon looked up as he spoke, subtler than an eye-roll, but exasperated all the same.. “What’s a worse reaction than trying to make your crush <em> hate </em> you? Literal self sabotage.” He couldn't help but think of, if he hadn't been so defensive, obsessed with denying vulnerability, how much happier he could have been.</p><p>Martin shook his head slightly, breathing a laugh. He glanced down at the binder beside them. As his hand slid over the page, realization dawned on his face, his eyes widening a little. “Jon, look-”</p><p>Turning his head, Jon glanced down at the page.</p><p>At the top were the words <em> shape in Mission Grove Park. </em></p><p>“This thing- it says it gets angry if anyone acknowledges it- maybe..?” Martin looked at Jon, a little hopeful.</p><p>Jon raised his head from the page. He leant his weight on the countertop with a casual air. Somehow, they were closer now. “It does sound familiar..”</p><p>A rattling made Jon flinch, distant through the walls of the lab. Turning his head, the sound drew his attention to a door on the far side- leading to a backroom. Jon’s hand tensed against the counter, fingers gripping its edge.</p><p>Martin’s hand found his shoulder, and squeezed comfortingly, reminding him that he was there.</p><p>Jon glanced at him. He nodded, and they wordlessly split to walk around the counter. As they neared the door, Jon reached toward the handle to open it. Walking through, Jon found himself in a dark storage room. Equipment lined the metal shelves, boxes of goggles and syringes and supplies pushed into the corner. Across the daunting space, there was another door- a window in the center. The handle rattled violently. Something banged on the door, shaking the frame. Jon flinched back.</p><p>Moving around him, Martin crossed the room. He peered through the window, the reflection bouncing off his glasses. “<em> Shit- </em>” he cursed and dashed to pull open the door.</p><p>Carlos fell through, panting and dragging an unconscious Cecil in his arms. The creature outside- made of shadow and bone and claw, lashed out and snagged the announcer’s arm, leaving a slash in its wake.</p><p>Martin slammed the door in its face. </p><p>Chest rising with sharp, shaking breaths, Carlos moved back from the door, clutching Cecil close to his chest. In the dark, violet tinged blood welled up along the announcer’s arm, subtly glowing amidst the shadows.</p><p>“Are you-” Jon began.</p><p>“I don’t know.” Carlos’ voice was rough. “I don’t know.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Fun fact: this is technically the first fandom/s I’ve done fanfiction for. I’ve written some small things for Good Omens and Doctor Who in the past as practice, but it never felt right writing for other people’s characters?<br/>I think these four come so easily to me because they’re all characters I relate to in some way.<br/>like really, if you made an alignment chart with each of them at a precipice, I would probably be directly in the middle.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. the void between two points</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Patience is a virtue, but not one that They possess.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>cw: blood</p><p>the rest of the fic is mostly planned out. it's coming to a close :&gt;</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Rattling against its frame, the door shook with a ferocity. Carlos’ heart raced.</p><p>Tendrils flashed through his mind, slick, dark tattoos becoming three dimensional. The bright flash of his violet eyes. </p><p>Carlos tried to steady his breath, but it escaped him, running in unsteady gasps.</p><p>It wasn’t like this was <em> new </em> . Carlos was smart. He was observant. He was a <em> scientist </em>. He could notice when shadows flickered around his boyfriend’s tattoos, when they bled off like ink as Cecil’s mind was otherwise occupied.</p><p>It had happened before. When he had dropped a mug, and dashed to grab it moments before it crashed- the tendrils appeared then, cradling around it with intensity. When Carlos had returned from the otherworld and wrapped him in a hug, the tendrils had leached off his arms, holding on with a sense of desperation. Even in the earliest days, lapsed into kissing in the lab’s backroom, the shadows appearing along his arms, weaving around his where they held against the wall, their fingers intertwined. Just a mirror of his intentions, reaching out when he was too involved to notice. Carlos had assumed it was some sort of protection around the announcer- enhancing his strength, his defense. He had just never thought he would see it like this.</p><p>“-What happened?” Jon’s voice broke through his scrambled thoughts. </p><p>With a swallow, Carlos opened his mouth to speak, feeling an odd warmth across his face. “He- went all- avatar? Is that what you called it?” His fingers subconsciously clenched the fabric of Cecil’s shirt. Warmth bled through his skin, heating the tips of Carlos’ cold fingertips. His thumb ran over Cecil’s tattoo in small, comforting circles. It wasn’t logical. Cecil was out cold- but Carlos felt the need to anyways. “It looked like he-” His chest was moving in small, shaky breaths. In lieu of stability, his brain analyzed the situation, breaking it down into pieces. “Ran out of energy?” The flicker of his eyes flashed through Carlos’ mind, like a light burning out. A sharp inhale. “They want him dead.” His voice broke like a realization, disbelief pouring through the cracks.</p><p>Before they could speak, Carlos shifted. Placing Cecil’s head gently on the floor, he pushed himself up from the floor, his knees pressing against the hard linoleum momentarily. “Can you carry him? Get him to a counter.” He ordered as he rushed to the wall and began rummaging through a box on the shelf. Medical supplies brushed against his hands as he grabbed a handle. He barely registered the movement behind him until he turned and saw they were gone.</p><p>Carlos strode into the lab, stethoscope gripped in one hand, a first-aid kit in the other. As he pushed them on the counter, Jon’s voice registered.</p><p>“Why would they want him dead?”</p><p>“I don’t know.” His tone was short. Carlos looked up, blinked. That was too fast. Thinking better of it, he responded, “The town’s vulnerable without him, I guess. Unstable.”</p><p>Jon glanced at Martin before looking back at him. “Unstable how?”</p><p>“Reality unraveling at the seams unstable- I don’t know-!” Pulling the stethoscope wide, he clipped the headset to his ears. Placing the round sensor to Cecil’s chest, he pressed down, and listened.</p><p>Quiet.. A steady, faint thrum of a heartbeat.</p><p>Sharp intake of breath. “His blood pressure’s always been low, but this-” Carlos remembered nights, curled up together, his head resting on Cecil’s chest. His heart, far too faint, a subtle rhythm against Carlos’ ear. In the beginning, his hands would clench with worry and he would lift himself up to look at Cecil. Watching for the slow rhythm of his breath, wondering how he wasn’t dead already.</p><p>“.. <em> this </em> is concerning.”</p><p>Jon breathed in shakily. “If they’re after the town, and Cecil’s-.. Is Night Vale in danger?”</p><p>“He’s not dead!” Carlos snapped. Knuckles white, they tightened around the stethoscope as he pressed it down on the counter. “They wouldn’t- the creatures wouldn’t have lashed out if he was. They still attacked, so he’s fine. He’ll be fine.” His fingers pressed up on the edge of the box. The lid snapped open. </p><p>“.. Carlos?” Martin’s voice this time.</p><p>“<em> What </em>?”</p><p>“Can’t believe I’m asking this, but- <em> should </em>his blood be red?”</p><p>Carlos looked over and- his heart skipped a beat. Down the slash on Cecil’s arm was dark crimson staining his skin, crusting on the dark hairs down his forearm.</p><p>“It’s fine,” Carlos replied stubbornly. Uncapping the dark brown bottle of hydrogen peroxide, he poured a small amount into the cap and let it run over the slash, sterilizing it. Tension held between his eyebrows, fear worrying away at his resolve. Lifting Cecil’s arm gingerly, he began to wrap the affected area with pristine bandages, gleaming in the fluorescent light. </p><p>Jon was leaning against the opposite counter now. “The slime- did they-?”</p><p>“I-” Carlos pressed the bottom of his palm to his eye tiredly. “One of them was nosing it- but. I don’t know if they absorbed it, no.” He sighed. “We’ve gotta figure something out.”</p><p>As he tightened the bandage in place, his hand rested on the back of Cecil’s head. Something wet brushed his fingers, and he flinched back. Leaning his head to look, Carlos saw the blood matted in his hair, almost imperceptible under the dark roots. A subtle violet hue was intermixed with the dark liquid.</p><p>Carlos took a step back, blinking against the tears stinging his eyes, the tightness in his throat. </p><p>Jon opened his mouth to speak.</p><p>“He’s going to be <em> fine </em>.”</p><p>“I-” Jon closed his mouth, hand clenching. “I was going to mention something we found?”</p><p>With a sigh, Carlos glanced at him. “What?”</p><p> </p><p>After washing his hands until his skin was tight, dry and stinging slightly, as if the soap could wash even the memory of the violet staining his fingertips, Carlos sat down at the table with Jon and Martin. </p><p>Putting his face in his hands, he tried not to think about Cecil, and listened to their stilted summary of his notes.</p><p>At the end, a small, humorless laugh escaped him. “And I thought you had something,” was all he could say.</p><p>“What?” Jon asked.</p><p>“We <em> do </em>,” Martin said.</p><p>Shaking his head, Carlos pressed his arms against the table, interlacing his fingers. When that felt wrong, he separated them, balling his hands into fists. “The shape never wanted to destroy Night Vale. Or- absorb it. Just to be left alone.”</p><p>“But how did you defeat it?”</p><p>Carlos scoffed. “Stopped talking about it.”</p><p>Face scrunching up with frustration, Jon was silent for a moment. “All I’m saying, is it could be <em> connected </em>. Do you have more notes on it?”</p><p>With a sigh, Carlos nodded. “Yeah, yeah.”</p><p> </p><p>Scratching, persistent and irregular, clawed away at the door. Select creatures had drifted back to the front of the laboratory, glaring at him through the reinforced glass. Their amalgamous eyes gleamed in the stark moonlight.</p><p>Carlos flipped them off.</p><p> </p><p>The CLASSIFIED cabinet was at the back of the room. </p><p>After sliding out the folder and pushing the drawer closed, Carlos turned back towards the others. As he walked, his hand slid into his coat pocket, and- his heart skipped a beat. It was empty. His shoes stopped with a <em> screech </em> and he felt his other pocket. Empty too. <em> Did I drop it outside </em>? Carlos thought with a sharp intake of air. His hand slid into the inside of his coat, feeling the inside pocket, and- subtle velvet brushed against his fingertips. Carlos sighed. He pulled out the small box. Resting his eyes upon it, he could feel the tight coil of panic slowly unwind. It was safe. It wasn’t like he couldn’t get another one- just a silver band, eyes carved into the metal in an interlocking pattern. It was just the thought- losing it. Felt like giving up.</p><p>Across the room, Carlos’ eyes landed on Cecil’s unconscious form, his head rested back against the cold surface.</p><p>Silently, his heart filled with desperation, his thoughts practically begging.</p><p>
  <em> Refuse if you want, but I can’t ask if you’re not here. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>As they looked over the notes, Carlos recounted the encounter at Jon’s request.</p><p>“Like, it was him- but it wasn’t. I don’t know how to describe it.”</p><p>Jon remembered Not!Sasha looming over him- the glow of his own eyes, the flood of instincts he had buried, awakening and dripping off his tongue as his words tore it apart.. He swallowed. Carlos’ words sounded familiar.</p><p>“Maybe he was possessed?” Martin asked.</p><p>The space between Carlos’ brows pinched. He looked at Martin.</p><p>“Actually,” the information popped up in Jon’s head, spilling out through his mouth. “Cecil can be possessed remarkably easily. Like radio waves through a speaker.”</p><p>Carlos’s fingers clenched as he glanced toward Jon. “.. No. It was him.”</p><p>Jon bit his lip. “Sorry. Too much?”</p><p>Carlos nodded subtly.</p><p> </p><p>Stalking the large, clear walls, the creatures watched them like hunters in the grass. As one neared the window, it squished against the glass. Now that Carlos was paying attention, he noted that the rest were moving a little slowly, a little more sluggish. He sighed. “Guess the slime had a purpose.”</p><p>Martin did a <em> woo </em> from across the room, and a snigger escaped Carlos’ chest despite himself. Small victories.</p><p> </p><p>To busy himself, Carlos took up organizing his scattered notes. In the break area, Jon and Martin were still sifting over his research.</p><p>“Ah-!” Martin exclaimed victoriously. Carlos jumped, and braced himself against the table. “It’s right here!”</p><p>Breathing out through his nose, Carlos turned and replied, “What?”</p><p>“In your notes- the shape <em> changed </em>.”</p><p>“Yeah, but-? Oh.”</p><p>“Doesn’t like to be acknowledged? Changes its form over time, yeah? Remind you of anything?”</p><p>Squirming against the window, the abominations called for his attention. “Yeah,” Carlos sighed. “Unfortunately.”</p><p> </p><p>Two minutes later, they were clustered around the notes.</p><p>“So, <em> what </em>?” Jon theorized. “Why can’t they be acknowledged?”</p><p>The sound of Cecil’s voice over the radio passed through his mind. “-<em> other-dimension bein.. </em> ” he murmured, and his face lit up, eyes widening. “Maybe it <em> hurts </em>them,” he realized. “Like- some kind of dimensional dissonance- being pulled between two planes.”</p><p>“-being watched hurts them?”</p><p>Martin grinned and turned to Jon. “Remind you of anything?”<br/>He blanched. “I- I don’t know if I can- ..”</p><p>“Oh! That’s similar to your Eye, isn’t it?” Carlos realized.</p><p>“-Yeah, but-”</p><p>Carlos was already turning, grabbing a laptop off the edge of the counter. “I keep track of any- irregularities in space-time, which, to be fair,” he let out a small laugh, “there’s a lot. <em> But! </em> Ever since you two showed up.” He pushed the laptop onto the table where they could see, as if either of them could make any sense of the graphs of data on the screen. “Temporal anomalies keep happening-” when he spotted the blank look on Jon’s face, he stopped, biting down on his rambling tongue.</p><p>Taking a breath, Carlos backtracked. “It’s like- there’s a door, right? Between our dimensions? And you-” he gestured to Jon. “With your connection to the Eye- it’s like there’s a string tied around you, keeping that door from closing entirely. Just enough of a crack for the Eye to peer through. Every time you Know, or Compel, you’re pulling on that string- opening the door just a bit before it closes again.” Running a hand through his tousled locks, Carlos felt the familiar rush of discovery. “I was keeping track of it cause I was looking for a way back to your home, so-” He pressed his hands together to keep them from fidgeting. “I think, if you used your power to its fullest extent, it could pull the door open wide enough for you two to step through.”</p><p>Brows furrowed, Jon looked from Carlos to the screen. “.. How long would we have?”</p><p>Carlos sighed. “It- the door wants to close, to seal up the cracks. It shouldn’t stay open for more than an hour or two.”</p><p>Jon leaned forward, running a hand over his hair. “I-” a shaky inhale. “I don’t think I have that kind of power- to pull the Eye through on my own.”</p><p>In the lull, each one of their gazes drifted, slowly, towards the body on the counter.</p><p>“<em> No </em>,” Carlos objected.</p><p>“Carlos,” Jon began.</p><p>“He’s hurt! And- and all his energy was used up fighting those things, so we don’t even know if he <em> could </em>-”</p><p>“<em> Carlos </em> .” With a <em> screech </em>, Jon’s chair pushed back at he stood, his hands pressing on the table. “It’s our only chance.”</p><p>With a scoff, Carlos’ eyes fell to his scattered notes.</p><p>“They’ll kill him if we don’t try.”</p><p>Something clenched in Carlos’ chest at the thought, a painful jab between his ribs. With a sigh, he nodded subtly. “Alright.”</p><p><br/>Researched pushed into a haphazard pile on the edge of the table, Carlos dragged the whiteboard closer to the table. Just before flipping it over, the contents of Martin’s list caught his eye.</p><p>With a glance at Martin, he asked, “Arson?” an eyebrow raised.</p><p>Martin leaned back in his seat. “Have you <em> tried </em>it?”</p><p>Carlos dipped his head. “Fair point.” He turned toward the whiteboard, pushing the top down so it spun to the blank side. Marker gliding over the smooth surface, Carlos drew a vague approximation of the laboratory, looking down from above. On the side, he drew a box, representing the laboratory from the front.</p><p>“So Jon and Cecil,” he circled two stick figures, one with three eyes and a heart over his head, and curved up toward the roof. “Need to get up here. It’s the only place that they can do the- ritual-? without getting attacked immediately.”</p><p>Jon tensed. “I would rather we not call it that.”</p><p>“Okay, anything else?”</p><p>“.. mmhm.”</p><p>Martin leant his forearms on the table. “How are they going to get out? Those things will be on them once they open the door.”</p><p>Carlos looked over the board, a hand positioned over his mouth. “.. Someone could draw them away?” Lifting the marker, he made a little circle near the backdoor. “The front door is closest to the ladder. If we could find a way to draw them to the front.. Then someone leaves through here,” the orange line curved out from the back, toward the parking lot. “They could act as bait while Jon and Cecil get to the top.”</p><p>Martin looked over the diagram, his dark eyes scanning it momentarily. “I guess that leaves me, then?”</p><p>“<em> Martin </em>,” Jon began.</p><p>“No, Jon. Look- you and the announcer are busy, and someone’s gotta stay inside if something goes wrong, yeah? Might as well be the scientist, and not- me.”</p><p>Jon’s lips pressed together, a pinch between his eyebrows.</p><p>“You can’t argue with that.”</p><p>“Just-” Jon huffed. His gaze fell to the table, where his fingers creased the edge of a paper absentmindedly. “Don’t get killed, okay?”</p><p>“I’m not an idiot, Jon.” but there was fondness in his tone.</p><p>Carlos wondered what hidden code he was missing out on.</p><p>After a moment, Martin asked, “So how are we going to draw them to the front?”</p><p>Carlos quieted. “Well, they want Cecil. And they’re angry at Jon, because he looked at them dead-on. So-”</p><p>“Oh, were we not supposed to do that?” Jon’s eyes went a little wide.</p><p>“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I made that clear,” Carlos replied curtly.</p><p>Clothes shuffling against the counter- a small, almost imperceptible movement.</p><p>Jon’s eyes went wide, the green luminescence filtering in at the corners of his irises.</p><p>Carlos glanced at him, concerned. “Jon?” He placed the marker on the counter.</p><p>Jon met his eyes. “Cecil’s awake.”</p><p>Heart caught in his throat, Carlos looked towards the laboratory. He was moving before Jon could say another word.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hey did you know that <a href="https://youtu.be/rbxL5BVEkRs">touch tone telephone by lemon demon</a> is the perfect year one cecilos song? (from Carlos’ perspective)<br/>cause it is</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. holding each other at the end of the world</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Cecil's awake.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Squinting at the bright lights, Cecil tensed. A dull ache pounded at the back of his skull. Cold metal seeped the warmth from his fingertips as he weakly pushed himself up. His head <em> swam </em>. Reeling, Cecil’s arm slipped, catching himself to lean on his elbow, his other hand stabilizing him. Pain burned down his arm, suffused only by a strange stuffy feeling, as if something was wrapped around it. Before Cecil could look, his eyes caught on-</p><p><em> Carlos </em>.</p><p>Those beautiful, rich, dark eyes contorted in concern- the lights hitting them like beams of sun through amber. He brushed a stray curl behind his ear as he neared him. “Cece-” he breathed. Stopping, hand on the counter, he swallowed. “How are you feeling?”</p><p>Cecil made a reluctant noise. “-lightheaded? Really- <em> agh </em>.” fatigue washing over him, he squeezed his eyes momentarily. So much for eloquence. </p><p>“What do you remember?”</p><p>His hand was on Cecil’s now, just the fingertips brushing his, warmth seeping through his caramel skin. Cecil drew in a breath. “Pulling you out of the way. The creatures- hitting the ground, then-..” His face scrunched briefly, confusion passing over him. “Darkness.”</p><p>Without thought, Cecil’s fingers held onto Carlos’ hand. A simple, subconscious action that brought so much comfort.</p><p>Carlos sighed, relief pouring out through his words, “you’re okay, then?” He brushed a lock of hair back from Cecil’s face.</p><p>Cecil nodded. “Yeah, I think.”</p><p>Biting back words, Carlos, looked across the lab. The worry coiled in the tense of his muscles was still fading, making way for the kind of exhilarated you only got if-</p><p>All at once, Cecil wondered what it must have looked like- how long he had been unconscious. How close to death he had seemed. </p><p>Carlos’ gaze had drifted back to him back now. Cecil opened his mouth to speak-</p><p>“Can I kiss you?” Carlos asked.</p><p>Cecil stopped. A small laugh escaped his chest. “If I ever say no to that, I may actually be possessed.”</p><p>With a little laugh, a look of intrigue gleamed in his dark eyes, in the tilt of his head- caught on the strangeness of his words. <em> That’s it. He’s too cute </em> , Cecil decided and pulled him down by the shirt, his other hand holding himself up. Warmth bloomed in his chest at the soft sensation of Carlos’ mouth against his. Then - his lungs <em> screamed </em>. Breaking off the kiss far too early, Cecil inhaled sharply.</p><p>“Sorry-” Carlos started.</p><p>Shaking his head, Cecil objected, “No, no, it’s okay.” His breath released slowly. “Just- still recovering.” His airways were tight, burning as if they had been singed. </p><p>Hand comfortingly on his, Carlos’ brows furrowed slightly, the gears in his marvelous mind working. “That sounds like- blood loss, but..” His eyes went a little distant, glancing off to the side, his voice dropping to a murmur, “You didn’t lose <em> that </em> much blood-”</p><p>“Carlos,” Cecil grounded him.</p><p>“Oh- yes?”</p><p>“What happened to those bastards?”</p><p>Carlos inhaled through his teeth. “Still outside.”</p><p>“Ah.”</p><p>“But we’ve got a plan, sort of. If you’re okay with it.”</p><p>Cecil nodded. He began to push himself up, grateful at the subtle touch of Carlos’ hand against his side, quietly supporting him. Lightheadedness washed over him, and he breathed in sharply. Bracing himself against the swirling fatigue, Cecil focused on Carlos’ words, tuning out the dull ache in his bones.</p><p> </p><p>Fingers grasping the delicate mug, Cecil let the warmth seep through to his fingertips. Herbal liquid steamed up from the cup in wafts, a gentle scent over the table. He barely heard Jon say a <em> thank you, Martin </em>, as footsteps faded, walking towards the central lab. </p><p>The window loomed beside them, large glass windows opening up into a void of stars and horror just beyond. Creatures gnashed their teeth, squirming and glaring.</p><p>It felt almost peaceful. What was Night Vale, if not a little horrifying?</p><p>“What is wrong with you?”</p><p>Jon’s voice broke through his thoughts. Cecil glanced at him, a little wary. “What?”</p><p>“You almost got killed and, you- you’re fine. Just <em> chill </em>.” the final word dripped with poison.</p><p>Cecil shrugged, a small notion.</p><p>“No, no- you can’t just.” He inhaled. “With the statement too, you just- recovered. Way too fast.”</p><p>Cecil placed his mug on the table. “Well, community radio is a dangerous profession, you get used to-”</p><p>“Oh <em> no </em> . No. I <em> know </em> dangerous jobs, trust me.” He leaned in, the half-empty tea forgotten by his elbow. “You don’t get used to it- you get <em> scared </em>.” His teeth bared at this. With his sharp angles and dark scars, he realized that Jon was a fairly intense man.</p><p>Cecil pressed his lips together. “<em> Night Vale </em> is different.” He sighed. ‘Look, Jon. We live in danger all the time. Supernatural or not- you can get killed just as easily by a haunting or a librarian as you can by a bus.”</p><p>Jon’s eyes narrowed slightly. “A li-” his eyes went wide, his mouth forming an <em> oh </em>.</p><p>“Yes, those.” Cecil nodded, guessing he could See them now. “What’s the point of being scared constantly? It doesn’t make the danger go away- just makes <em> us </em> miserable.”</p><p>When Jon didn’t seem to understand, Cecil sighed.</p><p>“Look, you’ve broken a glass before, right?” Jon nodded. “Great. So you shatter a glass in your kitchen. You clean it up, but some part of you knows the shards are still there, stuck in corners, laying on the floor in between sweeps. So what, do you tear the floors up? Move houses? Live in constant, destabilizing fear?”</p><p>When Jon didn’t seem to know how to respond, his mouth opening, then closing confusedly, Cecil gave him the answer.</p><p>“You live your life, Jon. And if you feel a sudden, sharp pain in your foot, you take care of it as needed.” Cecil met his eyes, a genuine quality to his voice. “You don’t need to be at the world’s edge every time something changes. Just keep a box of band-aids in your cabinet, and you’ll be fine.”</p><p>Silence lulled between them as they sipped their tea, a contemplative expression resting in the form of Jon’s eyes. Scratching persisted at the window, horrid shapes squishing against the glass.</p><p>“One time,” Jon said at last, “I broke a jar, and later found a shard of glass in my soup.”</p><p>Eyebrows raised, Cecil brought his mug to his mouth. “Sounds like <em> someone </em>angered the faceless old woman that secretly lives in your home.” He sipped the tea.</p><p>Jon’s mug slipped out of his grasp and clattered to the table. Eyes wide, he exclaimed, “There’s a <em> what </em>?”</p><p>From across the room, Carlos was waving. Trying to get their attention.</p><p>It was time.</p><p> </p><p>Martin’s hand hovered over the door handle, a nervous warmth in his trembling fingers. Through the window, there was void. Just darkness suffusing the glass- no creatures to be seen.</p><p>They were all gathered at the front. Exactly where Martin was supposed to go and- distract them.</p><p><em> This is a horrible idea </em>, Martin thought as he twisted the handle. Cold air invaded his lungs as he stepped outside and slammed the door shut behind him. The chill stung the exposed skin along his fingers. Gripping the edge of his sweater, he strode along the side of the laboratory. Turning, his eyes strained for light in the darkness, grateful for the gentle glow pouring through the windows of the building. He began to veer off from the building, his footsteps quiet and quick in the low foliage. He stopped, arms wrapped around himself against the invasive cold. The darkness made the vast desert seem wider, somehow. A solitary existence, surrounded by void and stars and the low, buzzing grass. Martin squeezed his eyes shut, fighting against the wave of fear that lapped at his resolve- memories of a foggy, vast beach, cold wind seeping through his clothes and into his very being, sapping away any semblance of warmth.  The Lonely. Shaking his head, Martin breathed in. Looking back at the laboratory now, he realized he could see Jon through the expansive glass. Even from this distance, Martin could see the sharp angles that formed him, how he brushed his dark hair back, a bewildered look on his face.</p><p>Martin breathed a laugh. He just had to remember. He was doing this for him. For both of their lives, together. </p><p>“Hey!” Martin shouted, cupping his numb hands around his mouth. </p><p>The creatures turned their heads, angry in unison. </p><p>“Come at me! I can- uh- go through walls or some shit-”</p><p>Shadows lurched forward, teeth glinting in the moonlight, sharp like glass.</p><p>Martin stumbled back with a yelp. Turning, his feet scrambled against the grass and he broke into a sprint. The cold air burned his lungs, icy adrenaline coursing through his veins. <em> Please don’t let me down, Jon </em>, he thought as he ran, the padding hoofsteps of the creatures gaining speed close behind.</p><p> </p><p>As the creatures turned sharply away from the window, Cecil could see Jon tense across the table.</p><p>“Martin-” he breathed.</p><p>“He’ll be fine, Jon.” Cecil pushed back his chair and stood. Moving to the door, he forced himself to stare forward, to not turn away. He knew, if he saw Carlos’ worried face, he would not want to step outside. “As long as we’re quick.”</p><p>As Jon joined him at the door, Cecil asked, “Ready?” with a glance towards him. Jon nodded, the scars along his cheekbone highlighted in the fluorescent light.</p><p>“Okay-” Cecil breathed, placing his hand on the bar. He whispered- “<em> One, two </em>-” And pushed, dashing through. Cold swarmed him, stinging his forearms, his neck, the tip of his nose, but Cecil ignored it and pressed forward, sprinting down the length of the laboratory. Jon’s quick footsteps were close behind, padding against the ground.</p><p> </p><p>As he pushed off the final step of the ladder, Cecil reeled from the exertion. His head swam. He decided to sit on the rooftop before his injuries knocked him off his feet. </p><p>Jon was close behind. His head poked up over the edge of the roof, hands grasped on the ladder bars. Seeing Cecil with his knees tight to his chest, he raised an eyebrow and asked, “You okay?”</p><p>Cecil nodded. “Yeah. Still dizzy, I guess.”</p><p>When he reached the top, Jon offered Cecil his hand. Raising his hand to take the offer, Cecil stopped, flinching back as he  noticed the bandage wrapped around his forearm, the violent tint seeping through. He grabbed Jon’s hand with the other and let him help him to standing. </p><p>The antenna was the first thing Cecil saw. Much larger than it had ever seemed from the ground, the wiry claws reached into the sky, signalling and receiving. His eyes lingered on it for a moment longer. Cecil had always felt a strange connection to radio equipment- the microphone, the signals, the antenna- it wasn’t until this night that he had an inkling as to <em> why </em>.</p><p>“We don’t have much time,” Jon said as he moved toward the edge, looking over out the illuminated city below. </p><p>Cecil knew, what he really meant was <em> Martin </em> didn’t have much time. Not that it made much difference to the archivist, anyways.</p><p>Joining his at the roof’s edge, Cecil swallowed. He hadn’t paid much attention to it before, but he could feel the soundwaves reverberating throughout the city. The hum whose resonance made the community what it was- stabilized it. It was so easy to just reach out and-</p><p>Jon’s eyes were glowing now- sharp, neon green in the darkness. “Hope you’re ready for this,” He said as slits opened along his cheekbones, under his throat, along his arms, and slid open to reveal eyes.</p><p>Cecil breathed, his pulse skipping nervously. “Yeah,” he replied. Then, quieter, “As I’ll ever be.”</p><p>Static burst through the air, cutting through his precious sound waves. Jon’s eyes (so many of them now) intensified, their glow increasing to a sharp glare.<br/>
The creatures turned their heads, hungry stares half hidden by shadow.</p><p> As he raised his head, a sharpened oval, a line cut through the darkness, opened behind Jon. An eye- his head, the pupil. He opened his mouth, invoking,  “CEASELESS WATCHER.”</p><p>Static buzzed in his ears, crackling and tearing through the air.<br/>
Just as they had planned. Cecil reached out, a ritual he had done so many times on the air, half conscious- but he was fully here now- and felt the tune of Night Vale resonating around him, the frequency that centered their fragile little community. A bright flash enveloped his vision, and Cecil gasped. The entire town was visible to him- so familiar yet terrifying. A vast dimension under the sky, a feeling like free fall, too many possibilities without the broadcast to center him. Cecil blinked.</p><p>(<em> The moon, blinked out, briefly enveloped by that eye-shaped light as it collapsed into a curved line, then back to its full intensity) </em></p><p>But he had only one focus now. The creatures- up close, the brush of the deer’s fur, the gleam of their human teeth, the dissonance of being not-of-this-world. Cecil breathed in, the power of his radio Voice filling his throat, and completed the invocation, as Jon had begun, <em> ceaseless watcher </em>..</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Turn your gaze upon these wretched things. </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> CRACK </em>. A door, somewhere in the desert, burst open. A cut across the sky exploded, opening up to reveal the Eye, glaring down with intensity, tearing the shadows apart. Faltering, the abominations withered and dissolved.</p><p><em> If they could scream, </em> Cecil thought, a cold sensation flooding his veins. <em> They probably would. </em></p><p> </p><p>He blinked, and the bright light faded. He was back, constrained to his own two eyes. Cecil stumbled back, his fatigue returning in full force. Catching himself on a ventilation box, he stabilized. Breath in, slow and steady.</p><p><em> They’re gone </em>.</p><p>His Night Valean instincts kicked in, soothing his frayed nerves.</p><p><em> Everything’s fine. For now </em>.</p><p>Jon glanced back at him. “Cecil-” The luminescence was fading from his eyes. “Are you-?”</p><p>“I’m okay,” Cecil responded, and was surprised to find that he meant it. “They’re gone?”</p><p>Jon nodded, a crease between his brows. Stepping back from the edge, he watched Cecil carefully. “Are you sure?” the archivist asked. “From what it sounds like, your town gets torn apart at the seams every other week.”</p><p>With a shaky breath, Cecil laughed faintly. His mouth split into a grin. “And it survives to get torn apart all over again. We will be fine.” Pushing himself up, Cecil straightened.</p><p>As he walked back towards the ladder, Cecil caught the uncertain glance in Jon’s dark eyes. He stopped. “Hey,” he offered. “I know you’ve been through a lot- we all have.” That was probably the closest he could get to admitting his experiences himself. “Your trauma may be affecting you, but you can’t let it <em> define </em> you.” Cecil poked Jon in the chest. “You’re allowed to grow. You’re allowed to be happy.”</p><p>“Are you still lightheaded?” Jon asked.</p><p>“Yes. Very. But-!” he pointed at Jon as he stepped back, nearing the ladder. “That’s not an excuse to ignore what I just said.”</p><p>Cecil turned and started down the ladder, leaving Jon in quiet contemplation.</p><p> </p><p>As Jon stepped down from the last few rungs of the ladder, he heard Martin’s distant voice behind him.</p><p>“-<em> Jon? </em>”</p><p>He whirled around, catching sight of him. “Martin?” He called, and ran forward. Jon dashed across the field until Martin was in his arms, pulling him close as the desert wind whipped around them. The fabric of his sweater was soft against Jon’s cheek as he pressed his face where his shoulder met his neck. Martin’s pulse raced under Jon’s touch, and he felt a jolt of guilt. He was scared. Leaning back just enough to look at him, Jon asked, “Are you okay?”</p><p>Martin nodded. “Just some scratches. I’m fine.” </p><p>“Oh-! I-” He moved back.</p><p>“No, Jon, <em> really </em>, it’s fine.” the soft brown hue of his eyes reassured him behind the golden wire frames. Martin pushed his glasses on top of his head as Jon leaned back in. He smiled, and Jon could see the subtle freckles under his dark skin, only visible from this proximity. </p><p>“The door’s open,” He said. The image haunted his mind’s eye- the wooden frame hovering just outside Night Vale, ominous and waiting.</p><p>Martin smiled harder. “We can go home.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Jon offered with a subtle grin, but he felt the warmth of home already, just being in Martin’s arms.</p><p>Pulling him close once more, Jon let his eyes shut, comforted by the pressure of Martin’s chest against his, the enveloping warmth of his arms. It felt like it was just the two of them. Holding each other at the end of the world.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>two more chapters left !! aaaaa</p><p>thanks again for all the comments !! you guys motivate me to keep writing this :&gt;</p><p>also Cecil/Jon’s words during invocation of the Eye is inspired by Jon’s smiting of the not!them in TMA (“ceaseless watcher, turn your gaze upon this wretched thing”)</p><p>edit: feeling thoroughly called out by that sponsor at the end of WTNV 171<br/>(context: joseph mentioned Magnus Archives/Night Vale crossover fanfiction)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. a whole future before them</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"Which is to say, scientifically speaking of course, speaking from the point of view of mere facts and logic and you know, what with the science and all…  I just thought that it was time for us to make a life together."<br/>- Carlos, Toast</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Morning light streamed in beams through the expansive glass of the science laboratory. Cecil determinedly stared at the reflection of the fluorescent lights against the metal, tensing against the sharp pinch of pain in his arm. Anything to not look at the needle. His fingers tapped nervously on the countertop, his nose scrunching up as he emitted a low whine.</p><p>“This was your idea!” Carlos reminded him, releasing the needle from his arm. As Cecil winced, he muttered a “<em> stay still </em>,” and placed a bandage over the prick.</p><p>“We were both curious!” Cecil objected. “Equal blame.” He glanced at the syringe and immediately regretted it, looking instead to the white gauze taped to his arm, the violet blood seeping under it. </p><p>Carlos sighed. “Okay, okay,” he admitted. Pushing the syringe out of Cecil’s view, he said, “I should have lab results in a day or two.”</p><p>“Then I can finally figure out what the hell’s up with me?” he asked hopefully.</p><p>Carlos chuckled quietly. “Yes.”</p><p>His hands drifted back to the bandage, hovering over the gauze. It still stung, a little pinprick of sharp pain. </p><p>“Don’t fuss,” Carlos reminded him as he packed up the medical supplies. </p><p>With a huff, Cecil forced his arms to lay still by his sides. The pain remained, a horrid little reminder of the needle in his arm. The sun had just come up over the horizon, its beams catching the glass, reflecting off it so it lit up the whole laboratory. It was early, long before any of the other scientists were due to come in. Cecil’s gaze drifted back to Carlos. Tilting his head, he asked, “Can you kiss it better?” a tease in the shape of his smile.</p><p>Carlos laughed. “Sure.” Placing the medical tape aside, he put his hands on Cecil’s knees, and pressed his mouth to his momentarily.</p><p>Smiling at the touch, Cecil let his eyes flutter closed before Carlos leaned back and returned to organizing, tossing the medical gloves aside.</p><p>Pushing against the metal, Cecil slid off the counter. His hand pressed to his upper arm as if it would do anything to release the lingering pain.</p><p>“You did well, though,” Carlos offered, his lashes low over his eyes as he busied himself with the supplies.</p><p>Crossing his arms, Cecil scoffed a laugh. “I’m a bit more composed than <em> that </em>,” he objected.</p><p>As Carlos neared him, Cecil found his arms drifting to rest around him. His back inadvertently hit the counter as Carlos rested his hand on the surface by Cecil’s waist. He squeaked an <em>oh-</em> in surprise as Carlos leaned in and kissed him.</p><p>The tension coiled in his muscles melted as Cecil did in Carlos’ arms, warmth blooming at their shared touch. Smiling into the soft, consistent pressure, his arms looped around the other’s waist. It was probably longer than necessary, but Cecil didn’t mind. He would give all the time in the world to kissing Carlos, if he could.</p><p>As Carlos moved back, Cecil moved forward, catching him in one last touch, happy at the feeling of Carlos’ surprised smile against his mouth, his contented hum. When they finally broke off, Cecil inhaling sharply in their shared space, Carlos leaned back just far enough to see him, Cecil’s chest still pressed against his.</p><p>Mouth curved into a smile, Carlos’ eyes gleamed with contentment. “Can I take you out to dinner this weekend?” He asked. “When you don’t have the show.”</p><p>Cecil smile broke into a grin. “Where to?” As if it wasn’t clear he would say <em> yes </em>, long before Carlos even asked.</p><p>“It’s a surprise.”</p><p>Looking up, Cecil breathed through his nose in a way that meant to express mock exasperation, but landed closer to contentment. “Okay,” he rolled his eyes fondly and leant against Carlos’ chest. The scent of smoke lingered on his lab coat, but Cecil didn’t mind. The warmth of his presence was comfort enough.</p><p> </p><p>Over a day earlier, on the furthest outskirts of Night Vale, Jon and Martin stood before a door.</p><p>Future sight is not an asset of the Eye’s abilities, so Jon did not See this happen, but he does Know this:</p><p>The weight of the ring box in Carlos’ pocket, a question pressing down on his tongue, the nervous flutter of his heart, the pure bliss that Cecil feels in Carlos’ arms. So, when Martin asks,</p><p>“Are they gonna be okay?”</p><p>With a glance back towards the town, an old, oak door looming over them, Jon can safely say,</p><p>“Yes. I think they are.”</p><p>Martin looked back at the door, no doubt imagining the shifting horrors on the other side.</p><p>“Are <em> we </em> gonna be okay?”</p><p>Jon’s heart twisted at the fearful pitch of Martin’s voice. His hand slid into Martin’s, interlacing their fingers and grasping on tight.</p><p>“I certainly hope so.”</p><p>With one last glance towards each other, Jon reached forward with his free hand.</p><p>The handle shifted, the door creaking open, and they stepped through.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>one last ch T^T<br/>this story really has meant a lot to me. I certainly didn't expect <em>that</em> when I went <em>"hey, what would happen if I threw these four characters together?"</em> but here we are. I'm glad I decided to finish this instead of abandoning it. personal themes aside, I tend to be a bit of a perfectionist, so it's been nice to write and share something that's allowed to be imperfect after refining my novel wip for so long.</p><p>next time: martin's question is answered</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. all I ever wanted was a life in your shape</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"I don't just want to <em>survive</em>."<br/>- Jonathan Sims, The Last</p><p>Here's the epilogue.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tma: is a tragedy<br/>my determinedly optimistic self: sorry I couldn't hear you over how happy these two are together</p><p> </p><p>chapter title is a lyric from strawberry blond by mitski</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Devoid of light, the hall was cast in subtle tones of grey and black, a monochrome snapshot of the world he knew. Jon had to fumble along the walls, tracing the grooves in the wood as he stepped carefully down the stairs, his feet feeling the edge of each ledge before stepping down. The shape of the house was becoming familiar with each passing day, but it was still a vague notion in his mind. Especially now that the Beholding had cut him off, like a puppet from a string, cast into the dark with no Knowledge to guide him. Dull pain ached up his leg as he made the final step onto the wood floor below. Inhaling sharply, Jon tensed, his fingers clenching on the wall’s edge. Passing over the smooth surface of the light switch on the corner, Jon’s hand rested by his side without flicking it on. They had learned the hard way that the light from the first floor shines straight up the stairs, waking anyone in the bedroom above. And Martin.. Earned his sleep, after everything they’d been through.</p><p>Flames passed through his mind. The Archives burning, Elias’ bared teeth as he turned, that little earring of his swinging on air, anger blazing in his icy blue eyes. He had lunged, but the flames got him first, catching on his heart, burning up and out from there- the sick scent of burning skin filling the air. The fire hadn’t touched him yet. Martin had just dropped the lighter on the archives- but the <em> files </em>were burning. Elias’ skin crumpled and blackened in the same way the paper did. </p><p>When the inferno enveloped his eyes, Jon had tensed, holding onto Martin, bracing himself for the same fate- the horrid flame that would consume them both.</p><p>It didn’t come.</p><p>The only heat was the subtle warmth from the flickering flames, hungrily consuming years of fear and work.</p><p>Jon had looked at Martin, and him at Jon, eyes wide with disbelief. As the reality settled- they weren’t dying, they wouldn’t be- relief burst from him in a smile. Despite it all, it made sense.</p><p>Love <em>was</em> the antithesis to fear, after all.<br/>
Jon forced himself to release a steady breath, centering himself. He let the memories melt away, the sense of the fire on their heels as they turned and ran, escaping The Institute with victory fluttering in his heart.</p><p>And then the Beholding cut him off.</p><p>Jon closed his eyes tight.</p><p>This was the one thing he couldn’t push away, couldn’t sugarcoat. It was just going to take time.</p><p>As he let up eyes open, and felt his way along as the wooden floor transitioned into tile, he let the memory run it’s course.</p><p>Sharp, stabbing pain, an integral force being torn from his chest. Every atom of him being torn apart and reconstructed, a familiar sensation seared from his veins. He had collapsed to the floor outside of the Institute, heart racing, certain that the burning had only been delayed- that it was time.</p><p>But the flames didn’t come.<br/>
The pain did.</p><p>Every prick, ever scar, every cut and bruise over the past five years returned with a vengeance. A scream tore from his throat, and he bit down against it. Sharp, metallic taste filled his mouth. He faintly noted the warm pressure of Martin’s arms around him as he trembled. It was like this- a thousand tiny holes tearing through his skin- a sharp cut across his throat- a hot, horrible burning pain over his palm- a yank of an ache like a tooth being pulled, but in his ribcage instead, torn deep from within him- more more more he couldn’t <em> stand it </em>-</p><p>Jon had trembled in Martin’s arms for an uncountable amount of time.</p><p>The worst of it was the emptiness. He couldn’t See, Known, be Seen, be Known. A constant, watchful pressure had been on his back for the last five years and it was <em> gone gone go- </em></p><p>Another scream emitted from his throat as the pain redoubled, fading into a weak whimper. </p><p>Back in the house, Jon held onto the kitchen counter, eyes scrunched shut. He breathed in carefully and slowly, letting the cool air fill his lungs. Breathing out, he remembered how it had hurt. And he remembered how it had passed. The pain still lingered, sometimes, but it was getting better with every passing day. Jon looked down at his hand. Sometime in the past few minutes, he had gotten the glass of water he’d come down here for. </p><p>Another breath. It must be the dark, that brought back the memories. Reminding him of how sightless he truly is now. </p><p>Soft fur brushed against his leg, and Jon jumped.</p><p>“-<em> maow?” </em></p><p>Looking down, he caught the comfy shape of their cat- Empress. Her fluffy face, shaped into a perfect little cloud. Her large, watchful eyes looking up at him expectantly.</p><p>“-Oh. It’s you,” Jon breathed, his racing pulse cooling down. Kneeling down, he ran a hand over the soft fur along her back. A purr emanated from her throat, arching her spine to meet his touch. “<em> Good evening, dearest, </em>” he murmured. </p><p>“I love the way you talk to them.”</p><p>Jon looked up at the sound of Martin’s voice.</p><p>He was leaning against the wall by the stairs, arms crossed over his chest, gazing fondly. The lamp by his side emanated a low sphere of light across the room. His glasses were slightly askew, sleepily pressed on his face in the dark, and Jon smiled.</p><p>“Whatever do you mean?” he asked.</p><p>“Like they’re royalty?” Martin laughed softly.</p><p>Jon scoffed. “She <em> is </em>.” Standing, he pushed his glass onto the counter as Martin began to cross the room. </p><p>“Was it the nightmares again? Oh-” Martin cut himself off as Jon looped his arms around his neck.</p><p>Allowing himself a moment of indulgence, basking in the subtle warmth emanating from Martin’s skin, he softly shook his head. “Not tonight. Just water.”</p><p>“Ah.”</p><p>“You?”</p><p>Martin dipped his head sheepishly. “Maybe. It was subtle, tonight. Not enough to wake me, til-”</p><p>“Oh,” Jon’s voice pitched in a slow realization. “Did I wake you?”</p><p>Martin shrugged, a small motion under Jon’s arms. “It’s fine.”</p><p>“<em> -mrr? </em>” Empress pressed against his calf.</p><p>“Oh!” Jon withdrew his arms from around Martin’s neck. Kneeling briefly, he scooped up the cat, one hand supporting her legs, smiling at the purr rumbling through her chest. As he stood, Martin’s hand brushed over the top of her head, smoothing down along the soft, irregular stripes there. Empress rubbed her cheek against his hand, purring. “Hey,” Martin murmured with a little laugh. Empress licked his knuckle.</p><p>Jon gasped. “Favoritism!” he accused.</p><p>“Oi!” Martin huffed a laugh. “Her affection is hard-earned, thank you.”</p><p>“Mhm. Hard-earned with <em> table scraps </em>, maybe.”</p><p>Martin rolled his eyes affectionately. “‘S not my fault she likes chicken.” He neared Jon, slipping an arm around his back, and leaned in. “And maybe I just have a soft spot for lovable pricks.”</p><p>Jon made a face. “She knocked over your glass <em> one time </em>- oh.”</p><p>Martin grinned.</p><p>“Oh. Yeah, that’s fair.”</p><p>Humming, Martin pressed his mouth to Jon’s briefly, causing his heart to flutter like a butterfly’s wing. Leaning back, mere centimeters between their noses, Martin said, “emphasis on <em> lovable </em>, though.”</p><p>Jon smiled and kissed him again, lingering for a moment longer this time, leaning into the warmth of him, the familiar scent. The sweet unfurling of his heart made his lingering pain seem like an afterthought, melted away by the subtle pressure of his lips.</p><p>“<em> -maow?” </em></p><p>Jon leaned back with a laugh, breathing into their shared space. “I think Empress is done with us.”</p><p>“Yeah.” The low, happy sound of Martin’s voice was worth reliving the apocalypse all over again, if it came to it. “Got noble duties to attend to, of course.”</p><p>“Oh, like dropping half dead mice on our doorstep?”</p><p>“Mhm.” He nodded, eyebrows raised in a playful sort.</p><p>Empress was starting to squirm in his arms, so Jon knelt again until her paws were touching the floor, and released her. He always did this, made sure she was secure in her stance before he let go. She trusted him not to drop her, and he was determined not to betray that trust. </p><p>Martin’s eyes were on the world outside the window as Jon stood. The first glow of sun was beginning over the horizon, just a low remembrance of the morning yet to come.</p><p>Glancing at him, Martin asked, “Want to get a couple more hours of sleep?”</p><p>Leaning into him, Jon pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Gladly,” he responded.</p><p>The bedsheets were still warm when they returned to them. Enveloped in the soft of the comforter and the pressure of Martin’s chest resting on his, his low heat making up for the cold outside. Jon rested a hand on his back, relaxing into the soft rhythm of Martin’s breath on his collarbone. Despite all that he had been through, Jon was safe. Warm and happy, it wasn’t long before unconsciousness would wrap around and pull him down into a restful sleep. As he began to drift off, he shifted over and murmured an <em> “I love you,” </em>into the top of Martin’s head. Martin, half-asleep as well, smiled, shifted closer to him, and whispered it back. The very sound of those three syllables warmed his heart to its core.</p><p>Morning was yet to come. And as it turns out, this world was not built for tragedy, after all.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>the chapter title may be from strawberry blonde, but <a href="https://youtu.be/ODPra5VxNLI">I Will</a> ended up being the Perfect song for this chapter. (listened to Francis Forever a couple times as well)</p><p>hey!<br/>If you want to chat, here's my socials<br/>tumblr is <strong><a href="https://www.tumblr.com/blog/somehow-progressing">somehow-progressing</a></strong> (I posted some collide-themed memes there and tma/wtnv drawings!)<br/>(I just started posting tumblr recently. social media has never been my thing but I want to share the art I make! so I'm trying it out)<br/>discord is <strong>void#6664</strong><br/>(I have a wtnv rp discord server if you want to join! https://discord.gg/Yfmer8b)<br/>I also have a personal + an art ig, but I haven't posted on them in a while (I mostly just use instagram for dms and following artists rn. might post again one day in the future?)</p><p>Also! You may have noticed the tag that I added, but I actually took a break from a novel I'm writing to make this! It's a wlw modern fantasy with bits of sci-fi and I'm almost finished writing it :&gt; I'll definitely post info about it when it's out.</p><p>I hope you liked this little outpouring of love and headcanons for these two podcasts! comments and feedback are always welcome!!</p><p>hope you have a great day :&gt;</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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